


Like Strangers (You and I)

by HollyMartins



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Morgan deserved better, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Good Person Arthur Morgan, Healthy Arthur Morgan, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Chapter 5: Guarma (Red Dead Redemption 2), Slow Burn, Some Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2019-11-04 12:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17898401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyMartins/pseuds/HollyMartins
Summary: Arthur Morgan and Charlotte Balfour are two very different lost souls who just happen to find one another when they both need it the most. Perhaps now they can each have a second chance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Arthur Morgan broke me. 
> 
> So now I must ignore the canonical story and give him the healthy and happy ending he deserved with another lost soul who also simply desired a little bit of happiness. 
> 
> And yes, Arthur is not sick with TB though the events of chapters 1-5 did happen (including several heart-breaking deaths). 
> 
> Please enjoy and thank you so very much reading. Please remember that comments are love and writers as insecure as myself depend on them for nourishment. 
> 
> Thank you again, cowpokes and I will continue this story as quickly as possible! Not beta-read so any mistakes are my own.

She had no idea why she had insisted he return for a visit. Charlotte was quite positive she would never see him again. In fact, as she laid in (their) her bed, she was almost certain that the rough-looking cowboy had simply been a hunger-induced hallucination—except for the rabbit stewing slowly in the kitchen. 

The next day, after eating her fill and placing a kiss with her fingertips to Cal’s photograph, she retrieved his gun, determined to hone her skills so as never to rely on mysterious cowboys with perfect timing. After all, one cannot depend on miracles to occur more than once. 

How many days she spent shooting at (and missing) empty bottles, Charlotte wasn’t sure. Isolation tended to make the hours melt together and she wondered, idly, if all hermits experienced this or if she was an anomaly. She was shocked, therefore, when in between shots, she heard a horse approaching and a man grunting softly as he dismounted. She was even more shocked when her very own miracle strode up to her, with all the unbothered ease of someone paying a Sunday call.

“Oh, hey there!” she greeted, determined to appear casually self-sufficient. 

“How you feeling, ma’am?” he asked politely, tipping his hat at her. 

“Much better than I’ve felt in a long time,” she admitted. “If we hadn’t caught that rabbit, I don’t think I would’ve made it another day.” 

“Well, you look better,” he observed, a quiet smile playing at his lips. 

“Better and determined, thanks to you,” Charlotte replied, patting the rifle in her hand. “And if I’m gonna learn to hunt, I figured it was time I learned how to use Cal’s gun properly.” 

“And how’s that working out for ya?” he asked as she turned back to the bottles and aimed, reminding herself that his presence should not make her nervous. 

“Well,” she sighed, “let’s just say my prey is looking decidedly unscathed.” She took the shot, flinching backwards and laughing softly at her failure. “But the end of labor is to gain leisure. Is that not what Aristotle said?”

“Well, I…” he reached out and corrected her hold on the gun, pointing it away, “I don’t know much about Aristotle but I know a thing or two about shooting a gun. Look, you gotta hold steady and firm.” 

Suddenly and without warning, he placed his large hands on her thin shoulders, effortlessly correcting her stance. She swallowed, abruptly aware of the tall and solid man—still a stranger—standing mere inches behind her. 

“You just focus,” he said, his voice low and just behind her ear, “breathe slowly, and always pull the trigger on empty lungs.”

Charlotte swallowed, took a deep breath and exhaled but he abruptly said, “Here, I’ll show ya.”

Removing his hands, he quickly circled behind her and, before she even had a chance to blink, aimed and fired, one of her bottles shattering instantly.

“You make it look so easy,” she observed but, as she suspected, he ignored the compliment.

“Alright, you try now. Remember to breathe.”

Charlotte nodded and carefully aimed the gun, his words swirling in her head. The time between exhaling and pulling the trigger seemed to be ages but if he noticed, he said nothing. Instead, he merely smiled when she fired and exclaimed, “Would you look at that! I haven’t hit one that close all day!”

“My turn,” he said and was about to aim again when a bit of movement caught Charlotte’s eye.

“Oh no, that wretched rat is back,” she sighed, oddly embarrassed as if this uncouth cowboy would be offended by the sight of a rodent. “Over there, you see? It’s been a thorn in my side ever since we moved here.”

Before she had a chance to continue, he silently took two steps forward and shot at the rat twice. It immediately stopped moving.

Slightly awed, she laughed nervously, incredibly aware of just how dangerous this man could be.

“Showoff,” she said bravely, swallowing. “Alright, my turn.”

She turned back to the bottles, slowly aimed, and with a quick prayer sent up to no one in particular, fired. The shattering glass was somehow louder than any gunshot. 

“I hit it,” she gasped before laughing aloud, “I hit it, didn’t I?” 

She turned back to him and instinctively took a step towards him before stopping herself.

“What can I say?” she offered instead. “Thank you.”

A bit of color came to his face and Charlotte saw that he was quite uncomfortable with her effusive praise. Anxious to change the subject and but him back at ease, she said, “I still have some of that rabbit left that I salted up. Would you join me for a meal? It’s the least I can do.”

He smiled thinly and nodded, following her into the cabin. A part of Charlotte’s mind, the part that sounded like her mother and sisters, shrieked in horror at her for inviting a strange man into her home. The rest of her shrugged, insisting she was not a vulnerable woman on matter how alone she was and—for some odd reason—she trusted him.

“Go ahead and take a seat at the table. Food is just about done,” she said brightly, approaching the simmering pot and stirring. This was good. This she could do. Playing hostess was a familiar role, one she hadn’t performed since Chicago but she remembered all the steps.

She heaved the pot over to the table and laughed breathlessly, “Well, it’s good and hot. I hope you enjoy it. You helped me to catch it after all.” At his continued silence, she turned towards the cupboards for the bowls. She noticed that he had left the front door open, the sunlight spilling in. Perhaps he had done so to keep her comfortable, so she wouldn’t feel that she was shut up with a stranger. She smiled again, hoping it didn’t seem too false, and placed his bowl down in front of him. “Bon appétit.”

He reached for his spoon before gazing up at her curiously. 

“Huh?”

Charlotte smiled again and insisted gently, “Please, enjoy. And thank you again for everything. I really am grateful.”

Once again he deflected, shaking his head and averting his gaze.

“It was nothing,” he said quietly. 

Charlotte didn’t hesitate before saying, “You’re a good man.”

She turned again to retrieve her own bowl but she could clearly hear the resigned exhaustion in his voice as he replied, “You don’t really know me.”

“I know enough,” she said, returning to the table. “There’s always more to find in ourselves. You helped me to see that.”

He didn’t reply, merely looked at her with an inscrutable expression on his face. Charlotte suddenly noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the paleness to his complexion. She had no idea where a man such as this would sleep at night, but she suspected he had been doing little of it recently. 

Desperate to fill the silence, she found herself talking about Cal, Chicago, their hopes and dreams, and her own insecurities. He listened quietly, his eyes oddly sad as if he recognized a bit of himself in her story—though they couldn’t be more different. She sighed and looked down at her half-eaten stew.

“You know, I pictured myself picking fresh vegetables, sipping homemade wine, writing a great novel,” she admitted, “but I turned out to be a far more pathetic anti-heroine than any I could ever pen.”

He shook his head and put down his spoon. 

“Well, I reckon you’re gonna be just fine,” he said.

Charlotte gazed at him and felt a sudden desire to reach out and rest her hand on his arm. Instead, she placed her hands on her lap beneath the table and laced them together.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I want to succeed for Cal’s sake but...sometimes at night, I realize just how alone I am. No one there to help or even just...support you.”

He hesitated for the quickest of moments before quietly saying, “I know the feeling.”

Charlotte tilted her head as she gazed at him in curiosity.

“Have you any family?” she asked nervously.

An odd look passed over his face, as if a sudden pain had shot through him, before it cleared.

“I did,” he said. “Now, I don’t much know if I do. People change. The world changes. And you just try to play catch-up.”

Charlotte exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

“I know that feeling, as well,” she said.

He swallowed. They were both silent for a long while, lost in their own thoughts when he suddenly pushed his chair back from the table.

“Well, thank you very much for the stew, ma’am, but I gotta be moving on,” he said, standing up.

Charlotte’s heart dropped.

“Already?” she asked, standing, as well.

“Yes, I promised a friend of mine I’d take him hunting and I want to get to his cabin before sundown,” he replied, gathering up his bowl and spoon and bringing them to the sink.

“Of course,” she said quietly. “Would you at least like some coffee before you go?”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you again, ma’am.”

“Charlotte.”

He looked up at her in surprise, as if he had never expected her to divulge her name.

“Please, call me Charlotte,” she repeated as she felt heat rise to her face.

“Arthur,” he answered, a small smile on his face. “Arthur Morgan.”

Charlotte smiled and took his hand in hers.

“Thank you again, for everything, Arthur Morgan,” she said. “My home is always open to you. Know that.”

His smile abruptly turned sad but he cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and headed towards the open door.

“Have a good evening, ma’am.”

“Charlotte,” she reminded him.

He looked back at her and that same inscrutable look came over his face.

“Charlotte,” he said and then left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Arthur and Charlotte continues. He is not sick with TB but the events of chapters 1-5 of RDR2 have still occurred. 
> 
> TW for this chapter: brief description of violence and sexual harassment (off-screen)
> 
> Not beta-read so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Please enjoy and thank you so very much reading. Please remember that comments are love and writers as insecure as myself depend on them for nourishment.

Rage wasn’t an unfamiliar emotion to Arthur Morgan. 

He had felt it throughout his childhood with his father; when he had found the two crosses marking Eliza and Isaac’s final resting places; whenever he saw Micah skulking around camp and whispering in Dutch’s ear; when Dutch had all but ignored Abigail’s pleas to rescue John and he and Sadie had to risk life and limb to do it themselves; when he began to realize that maybe Dutch wasn’t the man he thought he was and maybe, all that money in Blackwater, all those lives lost since then—it was all for nothing. 

When the rage became too much, he’d leave Beaver Hollow, usually in the night, and not return until his head was a bit clearer. He was loathe to admit to himself but it was becoming obvious that if it weren’t for the Marston family and Tilly, Sadie, Mary-Beth, and Charles, he’d never return. But Arthur was a loyal dog and even if that loyalty had switched from Dutch to the only people he could trust at camp, so be it.

But the rage was always there, simmering just below the surface and it was only by walking away from Beaver Hollow that he felt he could control it. Usually he’d go hunting, sometimes simply wander with his horse, Tess, and desperately try to recreate the peace of being out in nature within his soul. When that didn’t work, he’d head to Hamish’s cabin and hope the old man had another mighty prey in his sights. 

Hamish was one of Arthur’s best discoveries out in the wild. After Guarma, he was the only man who accepted Arthur for what he was, who held absolutely no judgements or prejudices, who was just easy to talk to. In a lot of ways, he reminded Arthur of Hosea, and if Hamish noticed a look of wistful grief occasionally cross Arthur’s features, he was polite enough to not mention it. In that small cabin by that small lake, away from everything, Arthur could finally relax and simply be.

During his third or fourth visit, with their latest kill roasting on the fire, Arthur got a bit curious. 

“You don’t,” he began, searching for the right words, “you don’t get lonely out here by yourself?”

The old veteran barked a laugh and poured Arthur a second cup of blisteringly hot coffee.

“Lonely?” he repeated. “Nah. Trust me, Buell is just about the only company I can tolerate, aside from yourself, of course.”

Arthur smiled and took a sip, wincing at the hot, bitter taste. 

“I can see the appeal,” he observed. “But ever since I was fourteen, I’ve been in...well, a family, I used to call it. I was never alone, ‘cept when I went hunting or on a job. Even then I always came back or had someone looking out for me. But recently, things, well, things have changed and now...now it’s like I’m alone even when I’m sitting in the middle of camp, surrounded by everyone.”

Hamish’s gaze was steady. Arthur looked down into his dark coffee and swirled it gently. 

“For the first time in my life,” he continued softly, “I think I want to be alone but the truth is, I’ve got nowhere to run to.”

“Well, neither did I,” Hamish said, shrugging. “I just found my own home, claimed it for myself and said get lost to whoever asked too many questions.”

Arthur shook his head, strands of hair falling into his eyes.

“I can’t do that,” he sighed. “I still…I’d feel too guilty. And I honestly don’t know how I’d survive alone out there in the world. I’ve always depended on the knowledge that someone had my back.”

“Oh come off it,” Hamish said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I may not meet many people but out of the few I have, you’re the only one who’d I trust to survive out here. Besides, I don’t mind giving you the occasional hand with hunting or fishing. Your form does need some improvement, boy.”

Arthur huffed a laugh and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Do you think a woman could do it?” he asked suddenly.

“Do what?” Hamish asked, blinking. “Survive out here on her own?”

Arthur nodded.

Hamish sat back and considered his question. 

“Guess it depends on the woman,” he said. “I’ve met a few in my time who could give me a run for my money with a horse and a rifle. Why’s that? You got a woman in mind to bring out here?”

Arthur snorted and shook his head.

“No, no,” he insisted, “but there’s a woman up north, living on her own. Met her a few weeks ago. She’s determined enough but she’s from the city. Had to teach her how to shoot a gun.”

“Well, determination is half the battle,” Hamish said. 

Arthur nodded, his thoughts straying once again towards Charlotte, an occurrence that he noticed was happening more and more frequently. He shook his head as if to clear it and stood up from the table.

“I’d best be going,” he said, reaching for his hat. “I’m expected over in Annesburg.”

“Meeting your lady friend?” Hamish asked with a sly look in his eyes. 

“Far from it,” Arthur replied, “and she ain’t my lady friend.”

Hamish raised his hands in mock surrender. Arthur rolled his eyes but smiled as he thanked Hamish for the day out on the mountains. He promised to stop by again soon when he got the chance and to not go looking for any big game without him before leaving.

 

He should’ve known the strange man was bad news. 

As soon as he had invited Arthur to rest by his fire, the back of Arthur’s neck prickled with unease. He stopped anyway—it was late and Micah and Annesburg could wait—and slowly approached the campfire, giving only monosyllabic replies to the man’s overly personal questions. Some men were just odd, he told himself, though his nerves were on edge as the man continued mindlessly speaking about women.

Suddenly, a wolf-like grin crept over his lascivious face and he leaned in, as if to share a secret: “I was hunting north of Annesburg, when I came across this cabin.” 

Arthur’s heart dropped and his stomach clenched. 

“And there’s no one there but this woman,” the man continued, “bit bony but beautiful as the day is long. Real elegant, fancy type. Don’t know what she’s doing out there in the middle of nowhere, but turns out she’s a widow.”

Arthur curled his hands into fists. They were isolated, but not too far from a couple farms and he knew ranch hands would be up and about soon.

“She asked me to leave but in a real nice way, made me feel good,” the man said, his grin turning more and more ghastly. Arthur stared and wondered if it was a trick of the firelight that made it seem like his eyes were black. “I watched her from the bushes for a while, saw her cry.” The man hooked his thumbs in his belt and his grin widened. “I think this is a place I could really hang my saddle.”

He didn’t have time to say anything more. In one fluid motion, Arthur stood and, with a flick of his hand, sent a throwing knife into the man’s throat. He collapsed, a pathetic gurgling gasp escaping his mouth. Arthur stepped towards him and looked down at the man as he struggled for a few moments. He reached down and removed knife, hot blood gushing from the wound. The man’s black eyes stared up at him in shock as his hands tried to stem the constant flow of blood.

“I’d put you out of your misery,” Arthur said as he watched his life slowly drain away, “but you made her cry.”

How long it took for the spasms and wet gasping to stop, Arthur wasn’t sure. He was busy setting fire to the camp, watching as everything, including the dirty photos, went up in flames. Once the fire engulfed the body, Arthur climbed onto his horse and raced towards Willard’s Crest.

 

He arrived just before dawn. The house was silent and dark. His horse had barely come to rest before he jumped off, and rushed towards the front porch, his heart pounding and his throat tight. 

The door creaked open and a small voice from inside the dark cabin asked, “Arthur?”

“Charlotte,” he gasped, catching his breath. 

The door opened fully. Charlotte stood in the dark frame, pale and wide-eyed, her husband’s gun in her hand.

“Arthur,” she repeated. 

There was a moment’s silence where they both simply stared at one another when suddenly Charlotte dropped the gun and ran out of the doorway, down the porch steps and the little dirt path, and threw her arms around Arthur. He stumbled back a few steps before instinctively wrapping his own arms around her lithe body. It wasn’t until the pounding of his own heart finally slowed that he realized she was speaking, repeating the same phrases over and over again against his chest.

“Oh thank God, it’s you. I’ve been so frightened, Arthur. When I heard the horse approaching, I thought...oh thank God, you’re here.”

“Hey, hey,” Arthur finally said gently, inwardly cursing himself for being so hamfisted at comfort. “It’s alright, I’m here. You’re safe now.”

Charlotte looked up, tears in her eyes but a smile of relief on her drawn face. It looked to Arthur that she hadn’t slept in days.

“Are you alright?” he asked firmly. 

“Yes, I’m fine now.”

“You don’t look it.”

She huffed a laugh and stepped back, wiping at her eyes quickly.

“I haven’t been sleeping,” she admitted. 

He hesitated before asking, “Why’s that?”

She swallowed and looked away, as if ashamed.

“Charlotte,” he repeated and gently placed his hand under her chin to turn her back to face him, “has anyone bothered you lately?”

She nodded slowly.

“A man,” she said softly.

“A bald man, with a moustache?”

She paled.

“Yes, how…how did you know?”

Arthur sighed.

“I met him, out on the fields,” he said. 

“And he spoke about me?” Charlotte asked, her eyes wide.

This time Arthur looked away, swallowing tightly. 

“Charlotte—”

“He was disgusting,” she said quickly. “A hideous, disgusting man who wouldn’t take no for answer.”

His gaze snapped back to her in shock. His hands reached up and grasped her shoulders. 

“He didn’t—”

“No, no,” she replied quickly, reaching up and resting a gentle hand over his rapidly beating heart. “No, but he said the most horrible, vile things.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault, Arthur,” she said. “I just...I hope I never see him again.”

“He won’t be bothering you anymore.”

Charlotte furrowed her brow as she peered up at him.

“How can you know that? He told me he’d come back and—”

“Charlotte,” Arthur said firmly, his grip tightening on her shoulders, “he won’t be coming back to bother you. Not ever again. I made sure of it.”

Her gaze was steady. Arthur stared back, waiting for the moment her face changed and the look he had seen so many times on Mary’s face come over Charlotte's—that look of horrified disgust that sliced right through his heart—but it never came. 

Instead, Charlotte straightened her shoulders and nodded once. 

“Good,” she said firmly. “I’m glad. I’m glad of it.”

Arthur blinked, stunned.

“Charlotte, I—”

“Don’t tell me,” she said quickly, a hand reaching up to rest against his lips. “Just...thank you.”

He nodded and she slowly withdrew her hand. He nearly reached out to take it in his but stopped himself. Instead, he reached up and curled a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You look like you could use some rest,” he observed. 

She smiled and ran a hand over her face.

“I haven’t been sleeping,” she admitted. “I’ve been so frightened that he’d show up again. I haven’t let Cal’s gun out of my sight in three days.”

“You shouldn’t handle a gun on no sleep.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I’ve just been afraid.”

“You don’t have to be now,” he said. “Why don’t you go in and get some rest? I’ll keep watch if you want.”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask that of you,” she said quickly. “Besides, I’ve got so many chores to get done.”

“Chores can wait ‘til you’re back on your feet.”

“And I need to go into town for a few supplies.”

“Town?” Arthur repeated. “What town?”

“Why, Annesburg, of course.”

“No,” he said quickly. “Listen to me, this may sound crazy but stay away from Annesburg for a while.”

“Why on earth do you say that?”

Arthur sighed. 

“I...I need to meet some people there and I have a hunch that...things will get hairy.”

For the first time during their conversation, fear came over Charlotte’s face.

“You’re not doing anything dangerous, are you, Arthur?” 

“I...no, but I can’t account for other people.”

She swallowed and nodded.

“Alright,” she admitted. “Just please, for my sake, be safe. I can’t stand to have...well, I just couldn’t stand it.”

They were both quiet for a long moment, simply content to be in one another’s presence when the sun finally inched over the horizon. 

“Come on,” Arthur said and, astonished at his own boldness, took her hand, “you need to get some rest. At least for a few hours.”

“You’ll stay?” Charlotte asked, hope coloring her voice. 

“I’ll stay.”

She smiled, squeezed his hand and together they walked into the cabin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Arthur and Charlotte continues. He is not sick with TB but the events of chapters 1-5 of RDR2 have still occurred.
> 
> Not beta-read so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Please enjoy and thank you so very much reading. Please remember that comments are love and writers as insecure as myself depend on them for nourishment.

She awoke to warm sunlight spilling over her face. 

Alarmed and confused, she sat up, her heart beating wildly. Suddenly she recalled the events of the early morning—of Arthur once again arriving when he was most needed, as if he and she shared some sort of mystical connection. She reached over Cal’s side of the bed to his pocket watch that she kept on the nightstand. It was after noon, the latest Charlotte had slept since moving out here.

The cabin was silent and she wondered if Arthur had left, though she doubted it. Guilt washed over her and she wondered what sort of man had the time to sit silently in a cabin all day. A good man, she supposed.

She climbed out of bed and quickly dressed, briefly brushed her hair before giving it up for a lost cause, and kissed Cal’s photograph with the tips of her fingers before walking out 0f the bedroom. 

As suspected, Arthur was still here, sitting at the table, Cal’s gun in his lap and a flannel cloth in his hand. He glanced up and nodded in greeting, a gentle smile on his face.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yes, but I feel foolish sleeping the day away like this,” she replied. 

He shrugged. 

“You still got most of the day ahead of you,” he said, returning to the task of cleaning the rifle. “And there’s fresh coffee on the stove.”

Charlotte smiled, amused at the sight of the rough and uncouth cowboy acting rather domestic. She poured herself a cup and returned to the table. 

“I hope you ate something,” she said. 

“I had some salted venison in my satchel.”

“There’s food here,” she replied, gently blowing across the rim of her coffee cup. “I may still be learning country cooking but it’s edible.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I’m just teasing,” she smirked, sipping.

Arthur’s shoulders relaxed and he glanced down at the rifle.

“Well, this should do it,” he said, dropping the flannel on the table. “Wasn’t sure if you had any gun oil about so I took it upon myself. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all,” Charlotte said, touched. “I can’t remember the last time that gun has been cleaned.”

“Well, if you’re gonna use a gun, you want it in tip top condition,” he said. “Always a good idea to have extra gun oil about.”

“I need to add that to my shopping list,” Charlotte murmured.

He looked up again, his mouth in a tight, set line.

“You’re not going to Annesburg today, are you?” he asked.

She shook her head and placed her coffee cup on the table. 

“I won’t,” she said, “but will you at least tell me why?”

Arthur looked down as he rubbed the back of his head. Charlotte reached out and placed a hand on his arm, noticing that he tensed below her touch. 

“You don’t have to tell me what you’re involved in,” she clarified, “I just need to know that you’re going to be safe.”

He sighed again and shook his head.

“I have to meet some people,” he said softly. “That’s it.”

Charlotte furrowed her brow.

“And I should still avoid the town?” she asked, mildly confused.

He swallowed and nodded.

“Just for a couple of days,” he said. His gaze shifted up to her and she struck by the intensity in his eyes. “Just please...promise me.”

“I promise,” she replied. “But...what sort of men are you meeting, Arthur?”

He looked away again and leaned the gun gently against the table.

“Members of my gang,” he said.

A thick silence fell over the pair, until Charlotte took a deep breath and rested her hands primly in her lap. 

“If they are members of your gang,” she said slowly, “why would it be dangerous?”

A smile quirked on Arthur’s face as he gazed at Charlotte. 

“Because I don’t trust one of them as far as I can throw him,” he replied.

“Then why is he in your gang?”

“I don’t have control over who goes in and out.”

Charlotte sat back as she considered this bit of information. Arthur fought another growing smile as he watched the wheels in her head turning.

“I suppose I have a lot to learn about gangs,” she sighed. “And I suspect the novels and newspaper stories I’ve read on the subject are quite inaccurate.”

Arthur huffed a laugh and nodded. Charlotte gazed up at him again and swallowed nervously.

“You will promise to be safe, won’t you?” she asked quietly. “At least, will you try to stay out of danger?”

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. Charlotte had the distinct feeling that it had been long since anyone had implored this of him. 

“I promise,” he said softly.

She sighed and sat back in her chair once again. 

“You know, I don’t have any way of getting in contact with you,” she said suddenly. 

An oddly wounded look came over Arthur’s face. Charlotte worried that she had overstepped her bounds and wondered briefly what else this man was hiding but then the pained look suddenly passed and was replaced by confusion.

“Charlotte,” he said slowly, “you still want...I’m an outlaw.”

Confusion appeared on her face.

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” she replied.

Arthur stared at her, his blue-green eyes wide and hopeful. An odd and pained laugh escaped him as he shook his head.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered.

“We’re friends, Arthur Morgan,” Charlotte said plainly. “And I trust you.”

He shook his head and Charlotte reached out, laying her hand on his arm again. 

“Arthur, I—”

“It’s not safe right now,” he said firmly. 

“But—”

“I’ll come to you, I promise,” he insisted. He hesitated for a few moments before continuing, “There’s a man, in Grizzlies East to the southwest from here on O’Creagh’s Run.”

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a folded map that he then spread out on the table. He pointed to a small drawing of a homestead on the eastern shore of O’Creagh’s Run. Charlotte smiled to herself as she gazed upon the charming doodles on the crinkled map. 

“His name is Hamish Sinclair,” Arthur continued. “You can trust him. If you don’t hear from me for a while, you can go to him. He’ll know what happened.”

Charlotte’s gaze shot up to meet Arthur’s. 

“What are you implying?” she demanded.

“Just in case,” he insisted.

“Well, why can he know what’s going on and not me?” 

“Because I want you safe, Charlotte.”

She blinked, her heart clenching in her chest. 

“Arthur…”

He reached for the map and folded it, returning it quickly to his satchel. 

“I have to get going,” he replied, standing. She watched him reach for his hat and slip on his worn coat. A voice in her head fretted that this could be the last time she saw him but the determined voice—the one that had gotten louder since Cal’s death—insisted everything would be alright.

Arthur sighed before turning towards her and offering a thin smile.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said. “I promise.”

Charlotte nodded and watched him leave the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop by hollymartinswrites.tumblr.com to say hi! Thank you again so very much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Arthur and Charlotte continues. He is not sick with TB but the events of chapters 1-5 of RDR2 have still occurred.
> 
> Not beta-read so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Please enjoy and thank you so very much reading. Please remember that comments are love and writers as insecure as myself depend on them for nourishment.

Dutch was right about one thing. The explosion was a sight to behold. 

Once the smoke cleared and their ears stopped ringing, Arthur glanced back at John and couldn’t help but smile at the grin on the younger man’s face.

“You really think that’ll draw attention away from us?” he asked.

“I guess we’ll see,” John replied, shrugging. “Tell the truth, I ain’t even sure I fully understand Dutch’s plan with all this.”

Arthur bit his tongue, the words There is no real plan begging to come out. Instead, he insisted, “Like I said, John, when the time comes, you go.”

He wasn’t surprised at John’s clear discomfiture. A few months ago, he would’ve been completely confounded at the idea of abandoning Dutch and the gang. But now, perhaps for the first time, Arthur’s eyes were opened.

“But what about loyalty to...to everything?” John continued.

“You been loyal. I been loyal. Look what that caused,” Arthur replied, weariness settling deep in his chest. “You know, all that ever mattered to me was loyalty. It was all I knew. It was all I ever believed in.” He looked up at the clear sky and shook his head. “But not anymore, John. Soon, you gotta go. Go and don’t look back.”

John stared at Arthur, his eyes wide and worried. For the first time in ages, Arthur recognized how young the other man really was and briefly felt guilt at how hard he had pushed him through the years.

“I’ll think about it,” John finally offered before climbing up the stolen carriage. 

“Now, I’ve done a lot of thinking,” Arthur said, gazing at the horizon. “Look at us, out here risking our necks and for what exactly?”

“For—”

“For a silly idea?” He turned back to John and smiled grimly. “It don’t even exist.”

“How you mean?” 

“You know just what I mean. You need cash. You got a family.” Arthur ignored the twinge of regret and longing in his heart before continuing, “Well, I need a vacation and Dutch has all the money.”

John’s face began to clear and he looked at Arthur with some of his old sly cunning. “You know something,” he said slowly, “Abigail thinks she might know where some of that money is.”

Arthur kept his gaze steady on the young man, schooling his features to remain calm.

“Well, you tell her she better make sure and then come talk to me,” he said firmly. “And we’ll find out just who and what we should be loyal to.”

“I-I don’t know, Arthur.”

“Nor do I,” he sighed before that old flame of rage began burning brightly inside him. “But I am starting to see things clearly now. I ain’t being taken for a fool no more.”

John nodded, his face tight.

“Maybe we’re all fools,” he said softly.

Arthur glanced back up at him and smiled.

“That’s one of the most intelligent things you’ve ever said, Marston,” he said. “I told ya, getting half-eaten by that wolf did you more favors than you can guess.”

John rolled his eyes as he laughed. 

“You’re a real sonovabitch, Arthur Morgan,” he said, smiling fondly before suddenly sobering. “But you oughta get out, too. Not just me and Abigail and Jack.”

Arthur shrugged, adjusting his hat to avoid looking at John.

“It’s different wit’ me,” he admitted quietly. 

“Arthur—”

“You got a family,” he repeated. “I got nothing.”

John stared at him before shaking his head. 

“Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought,” John sighed. 

Arthur gazed down at the ground, his mouth suddenly dry and his heart heavy. 

“I’m heading back to camp,” John said suddenly. “You comin’?”

Arthur shook his head.

“No,” he replied, clearing his throat, “gotta get some things done first.”

“Alright, just don’t leave me with those assholes too long.”

Arthur huffed a laugh and waved John on, watching him ride off until he disappeared over the horizon. That aching loneliness that sometimes nearly brought him to his knees crept through his chest and the need to see a friendly face overwhelmed him. He whistled for Tess, gave her a peppermint, settled on the saddle, and whispered, “Come on, girl, we gotta go,” before spurring her into action. 

 

The afternoon sun glittered over the still water of O'Creagh’s Run. Arthur took a deep, revitalizing breath and exhaled. Ever since leaving the bridge the other day, he had felt tense and miserable. 

Spotting Buell grazing in the long grass beside the cabin, Arthur smiled in relief. Hamish was home. He hitched Tess beside him, gave her a carrot and another peppermint, thanked her for the ride, and headed up the porch. He knocked and smiled upon hearing Hamish’s gruff, “Come in!”

Arthur opened the door, fully prepared to greet the rough veteran when he was struck dumb by the sight of Charlotte Balfour staring back at him. The breath rushed out of his lungs and when a shy smile crept across her face, his heart leapt into his throat. The desire to shorten the distance between them grew but he just managed to tap it down.

“Arthur!” Hamish declared, breaking the spell. Arthur blinked and turned back to the old veteran and tried to smile calmly. 

“Hamish,” he said, reaching over to shake his hand. “How are you?”

“Well, well,” Hamish replied and then motioned to the young woman standing in the center of the cabin, “a friend of yours visited today.”

“I see that,” he said and turned his gaze towards Charlotte. “What...what are you doing here?”

Charlotte made as if to approach him but stopped short. She smiled again and curled a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I hadn’t heard from you,” she admitted. “You said if I didn’t, to come here.” 

Arthur blinked.

“How—how long…” he said, searching his mind for how many days—or was it weeks—had passed since their last meeting. 

“I got worried, I suppose,” she confessed, smiling bashfully.

A lightness filled Arthur’s chest and he fought hard against the instinct to reach out for her. He searched for the proper words when Hamish cleared his throat. Both Arthur and Charlotte turned towards him and chose to ignore the gentle amusement in his eyes.

“I told her not to worry,” Hamish said, “that you were just working with the Indians up north for a while.”

“And a bit more than that, I’m afraid,” Arthur muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m glad to see you, nonetheless,” Charlotte offered. 

Arthur smiled and nodded once, gripping the headrest of one of the kitchen chairs. Silence settled over the group again before Hamish offered dinner to his guests. 

“Oh no, I’ve troubled you long enough,” Charlotte said quickly. “Thank you for allowing me to prattle on.”

Hamish waved his hand as if impatient with her gratitude.

“Nothing to it,” he said. “Good to meet a friendly neighbor once in a while.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Hamish, quite certain that the old man had never wanted a neighbor in his life. Charlotte smiled again, her face coloring slightly before reaching for her shawl. 

“I’ll saddle up Buell,” Hamish said, getting up from his seat at the table. 

“Where are you off to?” Arthur asked.

“Got to take Mrs. Balfour home, course,” Hamish replied, staring at Arthur as if he was dense.

Arthur blinked and when he put two and two together, his stomach dropped. He turned to look at Charlotte, who was biting her lip.

“You...you walked here?” he asked, incredulous before closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. You really are dense, Morgan. “You don’t have a horse. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“It’s not that far,” she said quickly. “And it’s a beautiful day. It really was no trouble.”

Arthur sighed and shook his head. Foolish idiot. 

Suddenly, a warm hand rested on his arm. He opened his eyes and was immediately met with the sight of Charlotte’s gazing up at him in reassurance. He wondered briefly what color best described her eyes.

“It was fine, really, Arthur,” she insisted.

“Well, I’m taking you home,” he said firmly. 

“I don’t mind,” Hamish replied but immediately stepped back once Arthur shot him a withering look. The old man smiled and shrugged and Arthur suspected Hamish was enjoying this entire exchange far too much. 

Running a hand over his face, Arthur cleared his throat and turned back to Charlotte.

“I’ll take you home,” he repeated, “and tomorrow I’m taking you to Van Horn to get you a horse of your own.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Charlotte said, seemingly mildly aghast that he would suggest such a thing. “That’s far too inconvenient.”

“Ain’t a problem at all.”

“But—”

“I’m not having you walking up and down the countryside. It’s dangerous.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“So, we’re getting you a horse.”

“I can get one myself.”

“How?” Arthur demanded, feeling himself grow hot with irritation. “Walk to Van Horn? Hitch a ride with strangers?”

For the first time since they’d met, Charlotte’s eyes narrowed and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. 

“I could take the stagecoach from Annesburg,” she insisted.

“I’m taking you tomorrow,” Arthur repeated, inwardly wincing at the growl in his voice.

“I have things to do!”

“They can wait.”

“I don’t need you taking care of me, Arthur Morgan,” she insisted, raising her voice.

“I ain’t—”

“I’m not a...not a damn charity case!”

Arthur blinked. Charlotte’s face colored bright red. 

After several long moments of tense silence, Hamish cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, with a look on his face that Arthur could only describe as shit-eating, “looks like you two have a lot to talk about on your ride back home.”

Charlotte wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders and calmly thanked Hamish once again for his hospitality. Her head held high, she stalked past Arthur silently, opened the door, and let it slam behind her. Arthur sighed, his shoulders sagging heavily.

“Don’t worry, son,” Hamish said, clapping him on the back, “every couple has their little arguments. So I hear, at least.”

“We’re not—” Arthur began but stopped when he saw the amused twinkle in Hamish’s eye. “Nevermind.”

Hamish laughed and clapped him on the shoulder once again.

“Well, what the hell are you still doing standing here?” he asked. “Go on after her.”

Arthur nodded, promised to a real visit soon—to which Hamish waved his hand away dismissively—and hurried out the door. Charlotte was gone.

“Damn stubborn woman,” he muttered, before rushing towards Tess. “Come on, girl, she can’t have gotten far.”

Sure enough, they caught up with Charlotte within a couple minutes, walking silently and as stiffly as a schoolmarm. He eased Tess down to a slow trot beside her but she resolutely took no notice.

“Charlotte, come on, let me take you home,” Arthur insisted.

“No, thank you.”

Arthur sighed and tried to keep his anger in check.

“On foot, it’ll be dark before you’re halfway there,” he said. “You wanna take a risk on a getting lost or breaking an ankle? Or meeting something unfriendly on the road?”

Charlotte swallowed but kept walking, staring straight ahead.

“Charlotte,” he repeated. At her continued silence, Arthur growled, spurring Tess to rush ahead and stop, effectively blocking her path. “Damn it, stop!”

Charlotte stopped and glared up at him. Arthur rubbed his forehead, feeling what he suspected to be a headache beginning. 

“I apologize,” he said. She blinked and the tight look of annoyance began to cautiously melt away. “You ain’t a charity case and I know...I know you can take care of ya’self.” Arthur sighed and slumped in the saddle, suddenly tired. “Let me just take you home and we...we can talk later, if you want.”

Charlotte hesitated before nodding once. Arthur sighed in relief as he reached down and helped her up onto Tess. Charlotte settled behind him and immediately placed her hands around his waist. Arthur stiffened at her touch.

“Is this alright?” she asked. 

“Yes, yer fine,” he replied, his tongue thick in his mouth, before stirring Tess into a trot. “Hold on, alright?”

“I will,” she replied.

They rode in silence for a long while, both lost in their thoughts. Arthur noticed that Tess seemed to already know the way to her cabin and he tried not to think about the implications of that. Suddenly, Charlotte’s hands tightened around Arthur’s middle and he swallowed deeply.

“You alright back there?” he asked, focusing on keeping his voice light.

“Yes, just…” she began before trailing off. He was about to question her again when he felt her lean her forehead on his back. He nearly dropped the reins, he was so startled. “Thank you, Arthur.”

“Ain’t nothing.”

“And I should apologize, too,” she said.

“Got no reason to,” he replied, trying his best to focus on the road.

“I do,” she insisted. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. Especially not in front of Hamish.”

“Hate to disappoint you but that back there weren’t yellin’,” he said lightly. “And I think Hamish found the whole thing hilarious.”

Charlotte huffed a laugh and straightened, leaving Arthur’s back feeling oddly cold. 

“I should apologize to him, too, nevertheless,” she said.

“You can do it after we get you a horse.”

“Arthur, really, I don’t need you to help me with that.”

“You know anything about buying horses?”

Charlotte hesitated before admitting, “Only the thoroughbreds my father owned.”

Arthur laughed and shook his head.

“The mounts you find around here are a bit different, I’m afraid,” he said.

Charlotte laughed quietly and agreed. 

“Alright, perhaps I do need a little bit of assistance,” she admitted. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said gently. “We’ll get through it.”

Charlotte’s grasp tightened once again around him and this time, Arthur couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face.

 

They arrived at her cabin just before dusk. Arthur climbed down from Tess and reached up to help Charlotte down. As soon as she was settled on the ground, he abruptly dropped his hands and took a step back.

“Thank you so very much,” Charlotte said quickly. “Once again, you’ve been my savior.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “Just...in the right place at the right time, I guess.”

“Once again.”

Arthur nodded and headed towards Tess, gathering the reins in his hands.

“Where are you going?” Charlotte asked, surprise coloring her voice.

“Back to camp,” he replied, reaching into his satchel and feeding Tess a carrot.

“Already?” she asked. Arthur turned to her and was struck by the look on her face, though he couldn’t quite place what it meant.

“It ain’t far,” he said. 

“You can stay for dinner,” she offered. 

“I’m fine,” he replied, twisting the reins in his hands. “Thank you though.”

Charlotte nodded.

"You don't have to come by tomorrow," she said quickly. "I don't need a horse now."

"I'll be here," Arthur replied. "Unless, o' course, you don't want me to be."

"No, it's not that," she said quickly. She sighed and absently picked at a lose thread in her shawl, a discomfited look on her face. "It's just...I feel so guilty."

"Guilty?" he repeated, surprised. "Can't imagine you done anything to feel guilty for."

"You're always helping me," she insisted, shaking her head. "You must think me quite the helpless damsel in distress."

"You know that ain't true," Arthur said firmly.

Charlotte sighed and looked towards the horizon, the setting sun bathing her in a warm glow. 

"I thought I could do this on my own," she said wistfully. "But the truth is, I need help. Lots of it."

Arthur shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets, for fear he'd reach out and try to touch her. 

"Nothing wrong with needin' help," he muttered. 

Charlotte turned her gaze back to him, her eyes so wide and sad. He wanted nothing more than to see them clear once again though he knew he had no right to desire such a thing.

"I can't keep relying on you," she said.

Arthur felt something in his chest clench tightly, and he wondered if this would finally be the moment he had long expected—when she insisted he never see her again. Instead, she merely shook her head and whispered, "I can't imagine what you must think when you look at me. Just some poor foolish little rich girl in over her head."

"That ain't even close to what I think about you," he admitted before realizing what he had just said. Please don't ask me what I mean. I don't even think I could put it into words.

Instead, a quiet smile crept on her face and she ran a nervous hand through her dark hair. 

"I-I don't want to think about what you think of me," Arthur said quickly, feeling comfortable with his insecurity. 

"Arthur, I—"

He shook his head quickly and offered her a smile. Something about it made her stop and she nodded once, a look of sorrowful understanding on her face. Suddenly, all he wanted was to get away from whatever precipice they seemed to be standing on. 

"I'll be back tomorrow," he said instead. 

"Alright," she sighed. "Thank you again."

He was about to turn towards Tess when Charlotte abruptly leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. A wild and warm wave crashed in his chest and he idly wondered how it was possible to feel so fortunate and so miserable at the same time. 

"Good night, Arthur," she whispered. 

"Good night, Charlotte," he said and mounted Tess, cursing himself for a fool as he rode away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop by hollymartinswrites.tumblr.com to say hi! Thank you again so very much for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Arthur and Charlotte continues. He is not sick with TB but the events of chapters 1-5 of RDR2 have still occurred.
> 
> Not beta-read so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Please enjoy and thank you so very much reading. 
> 
> Remember that comments are love and needy writers like myself depend on them for nourishment.

Charlotte liked Hamish.

He was cantankerous and a little rough around the edges but he was surprisingly patient with her and seemed to enjoy the occasional company. Charlotte suspected he relished having someone to show off to besides Arthur and though he sometimes complained about how irritating it was to have a woman tramp her way into his cabin and his peace and quiet, she knew by the twinkle in his eye that he was only half-serious. He seemed lonely. 

In a lot of ways, he reminded her of Arthur. He, too, was carried an air of isolation but it was different. Hamish enjoyed the sporadic visits by Charlotte and Arthur and though he sometimes looked a bit dejected when it was time to leave, Charlotte knew he was looking forward to returning to his solitude once again. Arthur, on the other hand...his loneliness seemed, well, heavier, she supposed. 

It was a tangible burden he appeared to carry, one that weighed him down and tired him out. For a man who spent all of his time out of doors, he was pale and wan. His eyes were always kind but harbored a deep sadness that never seemed to dissipate. 

Charlotte wasn’t a fool; she knew he was an outlaw even before he admitted it to her. She knew he was capable of violence, having seen the dried blood on his ranch trousers, the scars on his face and hands, the quickness and ease with which he drew a gun. Yet, she was unafraid. 

Her mother, her sisters, probably even Cal, would admonish her for that, she knew. Always plunging into things headfirst, always too stubborn to stop and think that perhaps this wasn’t the best idea. But her mother and sisters and Cal weren’t here with her. And Arthur and Hamish were.

She sighed as she finished skinning the rabbit. She had become quite adept at the messy work and no longer flinched at the sight of her hands covered in blood. 

“Not bad,” Hamish observed, smoking his pipe beside her. They were both at his cabin, overlooking the shimmering lake. Buell and Sage, the horse she had purchased from Van Horn at Arthur’s insistence, were happily grazing in the grass. “We’ll make a frontierswoman of you, yet.”

Charlotte smiled and wiped her hands on her apron. 

“I don’t know how much frontier there is left,” she observed, laying out the skin to dry. “Annesburg seems to be creeping every closer and Van Horn growing by the day.”

“Humfph,” Hamish replied, crossing his arms over his chest and biting down on his pipe in irritation. He was rather like a little boy in a lot of ways, she thought. 

“You sound like Arthur,” Charlotte remarked, a gentle smile on her face.

“Well, he is the only man I’ve met with any sense around here,” Hamish said, shrugging. “I love it out here but it does lack intelligent conversation. ‘Cept for Buell, of course.”

Charlotte laughed and shook her head, gazing out to the clear blue lake. She loved her little hillside cottage but she had to admit, Hamish had the superior view. 

“Have you seen him lately?” she asked quietly after a few moments’ quiet.

“Who? Buell?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Don’t be dense,” she replied. “Arthur. Has he been by recently?”

Hamish puffed at his pipe, seemingly enjoying prolonging Charlotte’s suspense. The old man was sharper than he looked.

“A few weeks ago,” he answered, taking the pipe from his mouth and exhaling. “Said he had some more work up with the Wapitis.” 

Charlotte looked down at her lap and picked at her apron, trying to assume an unaffected manner but knowing that Hamish probably saw right through it.

“Doing what exactly?” she asked. “Or did he not say?”

“Doesn’t tell me much about his work,” Hamish replied, shrugging again. “Just bits and pieces.”

“That’s more than he tells me,” Charlotte observed softly, unable to keep the petulant tone out of her voice. 

“Well, what do you want him to do?” he asked. “Give you a full report at the end of the day?”

Charlotte sighed and looked up.

“I just want to know if he’s safe or doing anything foolish,” she admitted.

“I’m sure he does plenty of foolish things,” Hamish continued. “But he can take care of himself. He’s been doing it for a long time now.”

“I know but…” Charlotte trailed off, frustrated that she couldn’t seem to find the right words to express how she felt.

“You women always need to know everything,” Hamish observed, amusement in his voice. “Sticking your noses where they don’t belong.”

“Oh, hush.”

“Even if keeping you in the dark is for your own good, you still have to know it all.”

Charlotte turned to him in surprise.

“My own good?” she repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

Hamish suddenly looked like a child caught stealing sweets. He bit down on his pipe again and shrugged.

“Oh, you know,” he replied, waving his hand in an indifferent manner, “it’s good to keep women out of men’s business.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow at him and he quickly looked away, clearing his throat.

“And Arthur thinks I should keep my nose out of his...men’s business?” she asked, trying hard not to laugh again. “What constitutes men’s business anyway? Drinking whiskey? Brawling in saloons? Whoring around?”

Hamish gaped at her in shock, his pipe nearly falling out of his mouth. This time, Charlotte didn’t stop herself from laughing.

“No!” he insisted. He sighed before rubbing at his forehead. “I mean...he just...Arthur just wants to keep you safe, is all. That’s why he doesn’t tell you much about what he does.”

“I’ve heard that excuse before,” she scoffed. 

“It ain’t an excuse,” Hamish insisted. “Between the army, bounty hunters, backstabbers in his own gang, and Pinkertons, Arthur’s got a lot of enemies. And he don’t want ‘em anywhere near you.”

Charlotte blinked.

“Pinkertons?” she repeated. “He never told me he had Pinkertons after him.”

Hamish sighed and shook his head, suddenly appearing tired.

“There’s a lot he hasn’t told you but it’s for your own good,” he insisted. “Just let it alone.”

“Is there a bounty on him?”

“If he does—and I ain’t saying he does—he wouldn’t want you to pay it,” he said, standing up suddenly. “Hell, he’d probably be happier if you turned him in and collected the money for yourself. If he had a bounty, that is.”

Charlotte frowned and turned her gaze back out to the lake. A breeze tousled the surface, sending the handful of ducks lazily floating to bob up and down. She shivered and reached for her velvet coat, the chill in the air suddenly gripping her heart. 

“I should head back,” she said, standing.

Hamish eyed her warily as she slipped into her coat and gathered her satchel. Charlotte sighed and looked at him, her hands on her hips.

“I’m not going to do anything about his bounty,” she said firmly. “So don’t look at me like that.”

“I ain’t saying he has one,” he repeated.

Charlotte smiled and shook her head.

“You’re a stubborn old goat,” she said affectionately, walking towards Sage.

“That may be,” Hamish agreed, “but you’re as stubborn and hard-headed as the best of ‘em.”

Charlotte laughed as she climbed up and settled on her horse. 

“Stay safe, Hamish,” she said. “And thank you for taking me hunting.”

“You don’t want that rabbit skin?”

She waved her hand, saying, “You keep it. A gift from one stubborn fool to another.”

“I thought I was a goat.”

Charlotte blew him a kiss before tightening her grip on the reins and setting off for Willard’s Crest. 

 

She was nearly home when Charlotte decided to give in and just eat the damn chocolate bar she had hidden in her satchel. She had planned on saving it for after supper but, as she and Sage sedately trotted through Roanoke Ridge, she remembered that she now lived alone and had no one to answer to about spoiling her appetite. 

Biting into the sweet, Charlotte sighed and tried to push down the heavy sadness that always seemed stuck in her heart. Cal had been gone for...how many weeks now? Or was it months? Shaking her head, she tried to ignore the guilt at losing track of how much time had passed since she became a widow. It wasn’t her fault, surely? Out here, in the wilderness without the hustle and bustle and busybodies of the city, it was easy to lose track of time. 

Sometimes, however, it seemed as if no time had passed at all. Sometimes she still woke up, half-expecting Cal’s arm to be around her, his snoring making her roll her eyes but smile nonetheless. Sometimes it was still a shock to see the empty side of the bed, the men’s clothing sitting untouched in drawers. The other day she had found a half-used tin of hair pomade and immediately burst into tears. 

Then there were days where Cal rarely entered her thoughts. Those were the days she felt the guiltiest about; the ones where she was too busy trying to survive or working or slowly traveling to and from town or spending time with Arthur and Hamish. 

She swallowed and gripped the reins tighter with her free hand. Cal would be pleased she had friends, she reasoned to herself. He wouldn’t want her totally isolated and alone and he’d be happy she had people who were willing to keep an eye on her. After all, he had always been the one telling her to embrace the world and just enjoy life. 

What a joke.

“Who goes there!”

Charlotte dropped the chocolate bar in shock and gripped the reins tight, bringing Sage to a stop. Her heart was in her throat as she sat absolutely still, frantically wondering if she should respond when she heard a bit of rustling from her right. She spotted the gun barrel first and briefly considered spurring Sage into a gallop when she saw the owner of the gun. It was a woman, not much older than her, with yellow hair tied up messily and a rancher’s hat perched on her head.

The woman tilted her head as she regarded Charlotte and slowly lowered her rifle.

“Who the hell are you and what in the hell are you doing here?” she asked in a raspy voice.

“My name is Charlotte and I’m going home,” she replied, surprised to hear how steady her voice was.

“Where you live? In a treehouse?”

“No,” Charlotte replied. “Up north a ways. That’s all.”

The woman eyed her carefully and, having satisfied herself that Charlotte was not in fact a threat, shrugged. 

“Well, you’re off the main road a bit,” she said. “A lady like you ought to be more careful traveling alone in the woods. ‘Specially here with those damn Murfrees roaming about.”

Charlotte swallowed and nodded.

“Yes, I heard about them in Annesburg,” she admitted. “I thought they were more of a local legend than anything real.”

“Oh, they’re real, alright,” the lady continued, reaching into her satchel and removing a carton of cigarettes. Charlotte was surprised when she offered her one but shook her head quickly. “They’re nasty pieces of work,” she said, lighting her cigarette and inhaling deeply. “And they got a soft spot for lonely travelers. I’d take care if I were you.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte said, her heart slowly returning to a normal pace and her hands no longer as clammy. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The woman continued gazing at Charlotte, holding her cigarette to her lips in quiet contemplation. Charlotte felt herself grow hot and wished more than anything for the woman to simply turn back into the forest where she came. Unless, of course, she was part of the Murfree Brood, she frantically thought, though she didn’t look the type.

“You from around here?” the woman asked as if genuinely curious.

“I—”

“Sadie, who the hell you talking to?” 

Both women looked up and Charlotte nearly swallowed her tongue in surprise. Arthur was sitting on his horse, looking as astonished as she felt and darting his eyes between herself and the woman he called Sadie.

“This lady got herself a bit lost in the woods,” Sadie replied, nodded in Charlotte’s direction.

“I’m not lost,” Charlotte insisted, mildly offended. She turned towards Arthur and explained, “I’ve been taking different routes, trying to learn more of the area. You know I know where I’m going.”

Arthur widened his eyes slightly and Charlotte realized he hadn’t intended to reveal they knew one another to Sadie, whoever she was to him. Charlotte winced at her mistake and tried to ignore the prick of hurt she felt.

“Wait, you know this lady?” Sadie asked incredulously of Arthur. 

“Yes,” he sighed. “She lives not far from here.”

“And she knows where you live?” she hissed, leaning in towards Arthur. 

“No,” Charlotte replied icily. “He never told me. Your secret is safe with me.”

Sadie glanced back at her, suspicion clear in her eyes. 

“Arthur, what the hell—”

“You can trust her,” he said softly. 

Sadie glanced back at Charlotte curiously before shrugging.

“Well, you’re the only one around here I trust,” she said, “so I guess I gotta take your word on it.”

“Thanks,” he said before turning back towards Charlotte. “Where you headed now?”

“Home,” she replied.

He nodded.

“Alright, I’ll go along with you,” he answered. He looked back at Sadie and leaned down, a fiercely determined look on face. “No one hears about this, alright? No one.”

Sadie stared at him, her eyes searching his for a few moments before she nodded once.

“Alright, Arthur,” she said. “Now get goin’.”

He straightened and nodded at Charlotte.

“After you,” he said and followed her down the path and away from camp.

 

“What were you doing around here, anyway?” Arthur asked after a few moments of silent riding. “Coming from Annesburg?”

“No, Hamish’s,” Charlotte replied.

“Hamish?” Arthur repeated, surprised. “Didn’t know you were spending time with him.”

“He’s been teaching me how to fish,” she admitted. “Besides, I think he’s lonely.”

Arthur snorted.

“I doubt that,” he replied. “Thought he only cared about Buell.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“You know that’s not true,” she said.

Arthur shrugged and gave a noncommittal grunt. They were both quiet as the horses trotted along gently beside one another.

“You ought to stay on the main roads,” he said suddenly. “These woods are dangerous.”

“I know,” Charlotte sighed. “That woman...Sadie? She told me the same thing. And I know to only travel during the day.”

“Nevertheless,” Arthur muttered.

“I’m being safe, Arthur,” she insisted. “I promise. Are you?”

He glanced at her and straightened in his saddle.

“Course,” he replied. “Don’t waste time worrying about me.”

“I could say the same thing,” she shot back. 

Arthur sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Yer right,” he said softly. 

“Thank you,” Charlotte said, genuinely pleased. “Where are you headed off to, anyway?”

“The Wapiti reservation,” he answered. “Got a promise to keep.”

Charlotte nodded. 

“Will you be gone long?” she asked.

“No more than a couple a days.”

She gazed down at her hands gripping the reins before gently offering, “You know, if you ever want to take some time away from camp, you can stay at my cabin.”

Arthur was silent for a worryingly long time and Charlotte swallowed, positive she had offended him.

“That’s nice a you,” he muttered finally. “But camp is just fine.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sure.”

“It’s just…” Charlotte said, searching for the right words, “I enjoy it when you visit me. Makes me...makes me feel less alone.”

She glanced at Arthur out of the corner of her eyes. The man was stock still, his hat lowered, hiding his eyes.

“I enjoy visiting with you, too,” he admitted gruffly. Charlotte smiled and reached over, squeezing his arm gently. He looked up in surprise before allowing a smile to slowly appear on his face. It made him look years younger.

 

When they arrived at her cabin, they both fed and watered their horses before Arthur followed Charlotte to her front door. She turned towards him and smiled tenderly. He took off his hat and held it awkwardly in her hands before clearing his throat.

“After I’m done with the Wapitis,” he began, “would it be alright if I stopped by again?”

Charlotte’s smile widened before shaking her head gently, amused that he still felt the need to ask. But at the sudden look of apprehension in Arthur’s eyes, she quickly reached out and rested her hand on his arm once again.

“Of course you can,” she said firmly. “You don’t have to ask, Arthur.”

He nodded and cleared his throat again.

“Didn’t wanna presume,” he muttered, looking down.

Before she had a chance to think about it, Charlotte moved her hand from his arm to rest on the side of his face, running her thumb along his whiskered cheek. His forlorn eyes met hers and Charlotte felt her heart twist in her chest as he tentatively leaned in towards her touch. 

“Arthur,” Charlotte whispered. He suddenly opened his blue-green eyes and stepped back, leaving Charlotte’s hand outstretched in the air.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said. “I promise.”

She nodded and rested her hand against her chest as she watched him climb onto his horse and ride away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Arthur and Charlotte continues. He is not sick with TB but the events of chapters 1-5 of RDR2 have still occurred.
> 
> Not beta-read so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Please enjoy and thank you so very much reading.
> 
> Remember that comments are love and needy writers like myself depend on them for nourishment.

_Take a gamble that love exists and do a loving act._

Sister Calderón’s words swirled in Arthur’s head, never quite leaving him alone. He wasn’t one much for superstition, but he could safely say that those words haunted him.

He wasn’t foolish. He knew she was just being kind. Though she had claimed to often not believe in anything herself, he half-suspected she was simply trying to make him feel better. But then again, if you can’t trust a nun, who can you trust?

Arthur laughed quietly to himself and shook his head. If life has taught him anything, it was to trust nobody. Before, that belief would’ve had the amendum: except for Dutch and Hosea. But now, Hosea was cold in the ground and Dutch...wasn’t Dutch, anymore.

Arthur cleared his throat and rubbed at his tired eyes. He had been riding for hours, with only his thoughts and Tess to accompany him. It had a been a long, exhausting trip to the reservation, then the train station, and now down to Moonstone Pond for another godforsaken debt collection. Arthur’s empty stomach twisted painfully. Why he still agreed to be the muscle for these errands, he had no idea. Someone with more brains would say he probably felt like he deserved to do them, like some sort of inane punishment.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Intimidating poor souls who were too stupid to avoid Strauss’s dealings wasn’t much of a punishment, and certainly not one strong enough for a bastard like Arthur.

He sighed again and patted Tess’s neck.

“Come on, girl, we got a job to do,” he said softly and smiled sadly as Tess snorted in response.

 

Annesburg was an ugly town. A dirty town, perpetually covered in a fine layer of soot that even seemed to blot out the sun on most days. Arthur had always found it distasteful and now, riding away from Arthur Londonderry’s widow’s cabin, he knew it was more than just an ugly place. It was hard, unforgiving, and deadly.

It was dusk and he knew it would be best to stop and set up camp for the night but the things he had seen today pushed him on. Even if he tried, sleep would not claim him tonight. Though he knew, deep down, that he had done right by J. John Weathers and Arthur Londonderry by absolving the debts, it didn’t feel like enough. He still felt dirty and sick with self-loathing. And he knew it would keep him up all night.

So he did the only thing he could think of to calm his thoughts. He urged Tess on to Willard’s Crest, the only place in the world he could feel at ease, if only for a brief moment. But even as he neared it, Arthur couldn’t help but feel like a selfish clod. Charlotte would be in bed by the time he arrived and the last thing she—or anyone with any sense—would want to do is comfort a miserable outlaw with too much blood on his hands.

And yet, he continued on, spurred by an overpowering desire simply to see her; a desire he couldn’t quite articulate or put into words. It wasn’t like with Mary, and Arthur was startled that it was the first time he had thought about her since...well, when the hell had the last time been? Before Guarma, definitely, before everything went straight to shit.

He sighed again and ran a hand over his face, grimacing as he imagined how unkempt his beard must look. He wouldn’t be surprised if Charlotte slammed the door in his ugly mug when he arrived. He’d deserved it, arriving after dark and disturbing her.

Still, he pressed on, almost frantic with the need to see and speak with her. Since Hosea, Arthur had lost the one person he had trusted to always tell him the truth, to always listen carefully and lead him down the right path. Sure, he had Charles and his clear-eyed wisdom, Sadie’s hot-tempered advice, and Tilly’s even-handed guidance, but it wasn’t the same. And he simply didn’t want to be at camp right now. He was quite sure he’d throttle Strauss the moment he saw him sleeping beside his tinctures and ledger. Better to wait until he calmed down a bit before returning to Beaver Hollow.

Tess slowed and came to stop. Arthur looked up and blinked in surprise that he was at Willard’s Crest. He could no longer deny that this horse knew the way instinctively. He sighed before allowing himself to think about the implications of that fact and dismounted, leading her to the stable where Charlotte’s horse was resting.

After making sure Tess had fresh water and food, and after an affectionate pat, he walked towards the front door, wondering how best to alert Charlotte of his presence without alarming her. Should he simply knock? Tap at the window? No, that would definitely unnerve her or any woman.

He ran a distracted hand through his hair, considering his choices, when the door opened. Charlotte stood in the doorway, a lantern in one hand and a welcoming smile on her tired face.

“I thought I heard someone stirring about,” she said.

“Could’ve been a prowler,” he pointed out.

“I saw it was you from the window,” she replied. “Thank goodness for the full moon.”

Arthur nodded and took a tentative step towards the door. He winced when he saw that Charlotte had clearly been in bed, wearing a silk dressing gown over her nightclothes.

“I’m sorry I disturbed you,” he said before muttering to himself, “shoulda waited till morning, damned fool.”

“I wasn’t asleep yet,” Charlotte replied and stepped away, motioning for him to enter her home. He did so, purposely keeping his gaze on the ground to avoid staring at her in such an intimate state.

She closed and locked the door behind her, placed the lantern on the table and lit the candles she kept on the sideboard.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, turning towards him. “Or need something to drink? Coffee or tea, perhaps?”

Arthur shook his head, though he wasn’t quite sure when was the last time he had eaten. It didn’t matter.

“Well, you won’t mind if I brew some tea then,” she continued.

“Course not.”

Charlotte smiled and insisted he sit as she went about filling the kettle with water and lighting the stove. As he watched her bustle about the kitchen, he felt an unfamiliar twinge in his chest, one that nearly took his breath away. She hummed quietly as she took out tins of tea and sugar and placed them on the table as she waited for the water to boil. Though Arthur had refused her offer, she still brought two tea cups over to the table before sitting down.

She rested her hands in her lap and gazed at him expectantly. Arthur cleared his throat and straightened in his chair.

“I am sorry about coming over so late,” he repeated.

“I already told you, it’s fine,” she said. “Are you finished with your work with the Wapitis?”

“Not quite,” he answered, and ran another hand through his hair, wincing at how greasy it was.

“Is that where you came from? All the way from the reservation?”

Arthur looked down at the table, staring at the grain and wondered why he found it more humiliating to admit to money-lending than being an outlaw. He was still on edge, always waiting for the moment Charlotte found his existence distasteful. Perhaps this was it.

“No, I...I had a couple other jobs to do nearby,” he admitted softly. He looked up and frowned at the open, warm gaze on Charlotte’s face. For the first time since he had known her, her hair was down and he was struck by how long it was and much younger she appeared. Suddenly, he was struck with a thought. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she smiled.

“How old are you?” he blurted out and winced at his ham-fisted manner.

“Why, Mr. Morgan,” Charlotte laughed and brought her hand to her chest in feigned shock. “I’ve never had a gentleman ask me such a forward question.”

Arthur exhaled and slowly relaxed, smiling at her teasing manner.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m an idiot.”

“No, not at all,” she replied and reached out a hand to squeeze his arm reassuringly before getting up to attend to the boiling kettle. “The last few months have probably aged me years.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think—”

She flashed a smile over her shoulder and shook her head.

“Teasing,” she said quickly, turning back with kettle and pouring tea into both the teacups. “I’ll be turning twenty-six in January.”

Arthur nodded, though he couldn’t help but grimace at the decade between them.

“And you, Arthur Morgan?” she asked, spooning sugar into her tea. “How old are you?”

He hesitated briefly before admitting, “Thirty-six.”

She nodded and took a tentative sip of her tea.

“I feel much older, I must admit,” she sighed.

Arthur huffed a laugh and reached for his teacup.

“I know the feeling,” he said. “Most of the time, I don’t even feel alive, anymore.”

“Oh, you mustn’t say that,” she said quickly.

He shook his head and offered a sullen smile.

“Well, I suppose I’m being a bit of a hypocrite,” she sighed. “Ever since Cal’s death, I’ve often felt rather like a ghost myself.”

Arthur met Charlotte’s gaze, his heart breaking for her. He looked down again and swallowed deeply.

“It must’ve been very difficult for you,” he said quietly before looking up at her. “But you’ve done well. Your husband would be very proud of you.”

Charlotte’s smile was filled with relief and genuine joy. Arthur felt that now familiar warm wave in his chest and he smiled into his tea.

“I hope so,” she said, sighing. “I still have trouble...I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

Arthur nodded as that cold, sharp grief that he had carried ever since Shady Belle pricked at his heart once again. He wondered, not for the first time, if it would ever get less painful.

“I’ve lost a great many people,” he admitted before he even had a chance to think about what he was saying, “some people I loved a great deal.”

Charlotte’s wide, wet eyes stared at him, silently urging him on. He swallowed before continuing, “I watched the man who was more of a father to me than my real daddy shot down in the street like a dog. He...no one deserves that but he most of all didn’t.”

He glanced up at Charlotte’s pale face, slack with sorrow, and he immediately looked down again, staring into his half-empty teacup. It was easier to keep talking if he didn’t look at her, if he didn’t see the sadness morph into horror.

“And Lenny,” he continued, “he was just a kid. Brighter than all of us put together. He had his whole life ahead of him and he...it just got thrown away all for the promise of a little bit of money.”

Arthur took a breath and found himself unable, or unwilling, to stop. The need to expel all the doubt, grief, pain, and anger was so overpowering, the words just seemed to pour out of him.

“And before that, Kieran, and before that, Sean, and…” he searched his tired brain for those dark days on the mountain but it all blurred together into one icy nightmare. “And Jenny and Mac and—”

“Arthur, Arthur.”

He blinked, suddenly aware that Charlotte was no longer sitting across from him but beside him, her arms around his neck and her hands in his hair.

“Hush, Arthur, hush,” she murmured and pressed her lips to the side of his head. “It’s alright.”

Realizing he had been unknowingly holding his breath, he gasped and clenched his eyes shut against the sudden pricking of tears. Do not break now, you damned idiot. Not now. Not here. Not with her.

And yet, another voice inside, a quieter one that rarely spoke up, insisted that if he did break down (which he wasn’t going to), Charlotte wouldn’t mind at all. She kissed him again and Arthur’s heart leapt so quickly, his entire body lurched forward in his chair. What a weak man you are.

“You poor man,” she murmured against his hair. He shivered. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that.”

He shook his head in an attempt to clear it.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped wetly. “I shouldn’t’ve...you ain’t gotta hear—”

“Oh, hush,” she repeated, running her fingers through his hair. “You can tell me anything.”

“No,” he insisted, shaking his head once again, “if I told you everything...everything I’ve ever done...you’d want nothing to do with me.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

Arthur opened his eyes and stared down at his hands, grateful that at least this time they weren’t bloody.

“Then you’re a fool,” he whispered.

Charlotte was silent for a long, worrisome moment and he was quite certain that he had finally done it. He had pushed her away like everyone else who had ever cared for him in his life. God, he’d miss her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her shrug and, to his intense surprise, she continued running her fingers through his hair. He winced, wondering if she noticed how badly he needed a wash.

“Perhaps I am,” she replied softly. “But you are also one, Arthur Morgan.”

“That is most definitely true,” he muttered.

“Then don’t worry about my foolish ways,” she insisted. She stood, taking her hands from his hair and he bit his tongue. “Come now, you need rest. You look as if you haven’t slept in days.”

He looked up at her, at her calm, open, warm face and suddenly felt a bit drunk. His tongue was thick and heavy in his mouth and she took his silence as acceptance.

“Then it’s settled,” she said. “You can sleep in the extra bedroom.”

He blinked again.

“You want me to sleep here?” he repeated dumbly.

She stared at him as if he had suddenly began speaking Latin.

“Of course,” she said. “You look as if a strong wind would knock you over. Come on, then.”

With one hand, she picked up the lantern and with the other, she reached for his arm and made as if to heave him out of his chair. Numbly, his legs moved of their own accord and he stood. Had he been dizzy the whole night?

He let her lead him to the empty bedroom beside her own, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. He barely noticed when she led him to the bed and sat him down, though he did start in shock when she knelt in front of him and began removing his boots.

“Don’t,” he blurted, “I got it.”

She glanced up at him, her face coloring briefly before she nodded and stood. She went to the chest at the foot of the bed and took out another quilt, unfolding it as Arthur removed his boots.

“If you need anything, just let me know,” she said and, handing the quilt to him, continued, “the nights have been getting colder.”

He nodded numbly. She stared at him, as if waiting for a response, before offering a tentative smile and reaching for the door.

“Good night,” she said softly, “Arthur.”

“Good night, Charlotte.”

She smiled once again and closed the door behind her.

 

He woke up to the sun streaming through the window and birds singing merrily. He blinked several times, winced at the dry and foul taste in his mouth, and yawned. It had been ages, perhaps months, since he had slept so peacefully.

He stretched and immediately groaned, his face growing hot with discomfort. He was hard.

“Shit,” he grit out against the pillow. He took a deep, steadying breath and tried to ignore the quiet sounds of Charlotte moving about in the kitchen.

It wasn’t an entirely odd thing for Arthur to wake up this way, but it had been a long time and he was frankly too damn old to be behaving like a half-cocked adolescent. He exhaled shakily and tried to concentrate on something—anything—to will his erection away. Just don’t think about Charlotte, particularly how she looked last night with her hair down and clad in only her robe, or how she had slept in the next room from him. Or—

“Damn it to hell,” he muttered and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He rested his hands on his chest and listened to the birds chirping, trying to distinguish the calls and songs. That should do it. Nothing exciting about bird-watching—or listening. Focus, Morgan. That one was a mourning dove. That sounded like a red-tailed hawk. A bluejay. A cardinal then. Keep going.

How long he spent in that self-imposed hell, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that the birds kept their incessant chatter up as slowly, painfully, his erection wilted away. God, but he felt like an absolute rake.

Groaning, he sat up and ran a hand over his face. He also needed a shave. But the rumbling of his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours and it was time to stop hiding in a kind woman’s extra bedroom. As he stood and reached for his belt and holster, he wondered just why Charlotte and Cal had built an extra bedroom. Perhaps they had hoped for visitors or maybe children.

Arthur sighed as he pulled on his boots. She’d been through a lot and certainly deserved better than his old, smelly ass sulking around her cabin.

Still, she had seemed pleased to see him last night. Or was she just being kind, like Sister Calderón had been?

Shaking his head, and without a mirror to see if he could salvage what a mess he was, Arthur opened the bedroom door and peeked out. Charlotte was at the stove and smell of hot biscuits cooling on the windowsill wafted to him. He immediately stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him, causing Charlotte to whirl around. The smile she bestowed on him was like the sunrise.

“You’re awake,” she said happily. “Did you sleep alright, I hope?”

“Yes, thank you,” Arthur admitted, walking towards the table. “I can’t remember the last time I slept in a comfortable bed.”

She cocked her head at him and seemed to think better of whatever she was about to say. Instead, she motioned to the stove.

“How do you like your eggs?” she asked.

“Oh, uh, any way you like,” he answered. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No, I’m fine,” she replied as she reached for the basket of eggs. “Help yourself to some coffee.”

Arthur did so and realized that he had never heard Charlotte’s voice sound quite this light before. Perhaps this was how she sounded before Cal died. He stirred sugar into his coffee and smiled to himself as he watched her busy at the stove. She was humming to herself as the eggs spat and sizzled in the skillet. Arthur allowed himself to simply watch her, committing this moment of brief domesticy to memory for later.

She turned with a plate of fried eggs and, after asking him to retrieve the biscuits on the windowsill, placed them on the table.

“I have a couple different preserves,” she said, serving a healthy portion of eggs onto Arthur’s plate. “I’m fresh out of butter, though.”

“This is more than enough,” he said, sitting at the table. He looked up at her and smiled. “In fact, this is more than I usually eat in a day. You didn’t have to do all this for me.”

“Of course not,” she said, placing a napkin on her lap, “I did it for myself, too.”

Arthur laughed and began eating. Perhaps it was the good night’s sleep or simply the company, but it was the best breakfast he’d had in ages.

After a few moment’s silence as they ate, he was suddenly aware that Charlotte was looking a him. He raised a quizzical brow.

“You did sleep alright?” she asked again. “You didn’t just say that you did?”

“Of course not,” he replied, helping himself to another biscuit. “I slept better than I have in I don’t know how long.”

She smiled and looked relieved.

“Good,” she said.

“I’m used to sleeping on the cold, hard ground so trust me, your cabin is the lap of luxury.”

Charlotte laughed and sipped at her coffee. She tilted her head as she quietly scrutinized him.

“You’ve really never had a home?” she asked. “A proper one?”

He hesitated briefly and Charlotte’s hand immediately flew out to his arm.

“Oh, if I’ve asked too much or said something out of turn, I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he said, shrugging. “And if by a proper home in a house with a family, then not since I was a boy. Before my mama died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Arthur,” she said and he was struck with how sincere she sounded.

“Was a long time ago,” he replied quickly. “But yeah, ever since I joined with my gang, we’ve just been living on the run. Not staying too long in one place. Try to stay one step ahead of the law.”

“But doesn’t that get tiring?”

Arthur looked up at her and realized that not only was her face warm and open, it was sweet.

“Exhausting,” he admitted softly. “Don’t know how much longer I can take it.”

“Then why don’t you leave?”

He shook his head and sighed deeply.

“It’s not that easy,” he confessed. “I’ve been with them for most of my life. And there’s still a few I need to keep safe.”

Charlotte nodded and looked down at her plate as if in contemplation.

“So you’re just going to keep running for the rest of your life?” she asked quietly, never lifting her eyes to meet his.

He gazed at her, his heart in his throat and a sudden, intense longing overwhelming him.

“I—” he started and then cleared his throat. “I don’t know. I truly don’t. Ain’t got much else to do.”

Her gaze lifted to meet his, a wistful look on her face.

“For a moment,” she said suddenly, “after Cal died, I wanted to go back to Chicago. I thought there was no place for me here. That I couldn’t survive on my own.” A quiet smile arose on her face. “But then I realized I was free to make my own life, maybe create my own family.”

That warm wave returned, nearly taking Arthur’s breath away. It was too much to hope for.

“I’ve never been on my own, you see,” she continued. “I went straight from my parents and sisters to Cal. I’ve never had the chance to just...be.”

Arthur exhaled shakily, unable to take his eyes off of her.

“You could have that chance,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

His heart was beating wildly and he vaguely wondered if he was still breathing. They stared, unblinking, at one another as if silently begging the other to speak. Arthur gathered his courage, what little there was, and whispered, “How?”

Charlotte smiled.

“You just take it,” she answered. She reached a hand across the table and rested it over his, a jolt coursing through him at her touch. “I can show you.”

He gazed down at her hand touching his and suddenly felt as if a thick veil had been lifted from over his eyes. He turned his hand to grasp hers, their fingers entwining. He smiled.

“Alright,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop by hollymartinswrites.tumblr.com to say hi! Thank you again so very much for reading!
> 
> Please don't forget to comment!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Arthur and Charlotte continues. He is not sick with TB but the events of chapters 1-5 of RDR2 have still occurred.
> 
> Not beta-read so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Please enjoy and thank you so very much reading.
> 
> Remember that comments are love and needy writers like myself depend on them for nourishment.

The news of Colm O’Driscoll’s hanging and the subsequent bloodbath on the streets of Saint Denis reached Annesburg in less than a day. 

It was already old news by the time Charlotte heard about it in the general store during one of her rare visits. It was a grisly story, one the shopkeeper and miners seemed to relish retelling. Sometimes it was just Colm and a couple of his men who died. Other times, the city streets ran with the blood of fifty bodies. One of the miners insisted an explosion had been involved. 

Charlotte said little, though she bought the latest newspaper and scanned it quickly for the name “Arthur Morgan.” She read it back to front and over again, just in case, but no, Arthur was not mentioned. She relaxed minutely, exhaled a shaking breath, and purchased a bottle of whisky for later.

Unhitching Sage, she climbed up and headed back home, thoughts of Arthur in that crowded, filthy city setting her teeth on edge. He had mentioned Saint Denis in the past, an off-handed comment about how much he disliked working there. The last time she had seen him, he had admitted to going south for a job but left it at that. Never once had the word “O’Driscoll” left his lips but somehow, Charlotte knew he had been down there for that hanging. And if he wasn’t directly responsible for the bloodbath, well, he certainly knew who was.

Once she returned home, she carefully unpacked her goods, fed, watered, and brushed Sage, swept the house and porch, began to prepare a dough for bread, and focused entirely on anything but thoughts of Arthur. She especially did not want to think of him as one of those bloodied bodies in the street, or the perpetrator behind them.

You’re a fool, Charlotte Balfour, the voice that sounded suspiciously like her sisters and mother insisted. You know he’s a killer and you’ve let him into your home. Into your life. 

She ignored it, pouring all of her sudden misery into roughly kneading the dough. She wouldn’t be surprised if this bread didn’t even turn out edible.

He’s slept in your house, the voice continued. You invited him to sleep in your house and eat at your table. If Cal was still alive, you would’ve never dreamed of doing such a thing. 

Charlotte groaned and rubbed at her temples distractedly, the beginnings of a headache growing. 

What would Cal think? What would your husband think of his wife taking up with an outlaw? And not just any outlaw, a cold-blooded killer? 

A sob escaped her. She ran from the kitchen, her hands and apron still covered in flour and dough, and collapsed on her bed, weeping. How long she did so, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was as the tears finally slowed, her head was pounding painfully. Sighing, she sat up, wiped miserably at her wet face, and immediately gazed at the photograph on the wall of her and Cal on their wedding day.

She scrunched up her face in determination to not break down again and took several deep, steadying breaths. Slowly, she stood from the bed and walked towards the photograph, taking it in her still messy hands. She gazed at the young man staring back at her, his face unlined, open, and determined to appear firm and strong. She laughed to herself. Cal had been firm and strong in his own unique way, but this photograph was all youthful bravado. 

She placed the photographed back and kissed the tips of her fingers to his face. Sighing, she went back out to the kitchen and wondered what Cal would think of Arthur. He probably would’ve been thrilled at meeting a real live outlaw and badger him with questions until he was blue in the face. He probably would not be thrilled about the cautious friendship between his wife and Arthur, nor about the fact that he was constantly in Charlotte’s thoughts. 

Shaking her head, she returned to the dough and sighed. Cal had been unconscious at the end and never gave her any end-of-life instructions or reassurance to move on. She was being terribly selfish, she knew, but sometimes she wished Cal would’ve left her with something, anything, to assuage this guilt. 

You’re not even wishing he was still alive, the voice pointed out, returning in full force. You just wish he gave you permission to pursue this dangerous man. Cal’s been dead less than six months and you want to jump into bed with Arthur Morgan like some harlot? Who raised you, Charlotte Balfour? 

Charlotte immediately went to the cabinet and pulled out the freshly bought whisky, pouring herself a healthy serving. If she couldn’t stop the voice, she would at least shut it up for a while. It might worsen her headache but honestly, she’d take the pounding of that over the voice any time. 

Besides, she thought as she swallowed the whisky, shivering at its taste, it’s not like she had done anything immoral with Arthur. He had been kind to her and she had been kind in return. The most that could be said was that they held hands and even then, all they had discussed was their shared desire to simply find their own way in this world. Her conscience was clear—for the most part.

Sighing, she shook her head and turned back to her baking, determined to not let any any more voices affect her, no matter how cruel—or truthful—their words.

 

Charlotte was slicing the last bit of bread when she heard a horse approaching. She smiled and put the knife down on the table, wiped her hands on her apron, and ran a nervous hand through her hair before reaching for the door. She opened it, a smile on her face and Arthur’s name on her lips when she stopped short.

“Morning,” the yellow-haired woman said, hitching her horse and feeding it an apple. “Charlotte, right?”

Charlotte blinked before nodding mutely. She walked up to the front door and gazed at her expectantly. She raised an eyebrow and asked, “Remember me?”

“Yes,” Charlotte gasped. “You’re Sadie. You know Arthur.”

Sadie nodded and pushed her hat back, some of her yellow hair falling into her eyes. 

“You’re probably wondering what the hell I’m doing here,” she said.

“Yes,” Charlotte answered, tentatively, her hand tightening on the doorknob. “And how do you know where I live?”

Sadie snorted in amusement.

“I tracked Arthur here once,” she said, shrugging. “Wasn’t that hard.”

Charlotte blinked and swallowed.

“You got nothing to worry about,” Sadie replied, “I’m not here to rob ya.”

“Then what do you want?” 

“I wanted to see if Arthur has his head up his ass or not,” Sadie answered bluntly. 

Charlotte started but, at the sight of a smirk on Sadie’s sun kissed face, she felt herself relax ever so slightly and smile.

“Has he done something foolish?” she asked, taking a step towards Sadie.

“No, but he might,” she said. She peered at Charlotte as if trying to find an answer on her face.

“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked. “Is he in trouble?”

“We’re all in trouble,” Sadie sighed. “But Arthur might have a chance. Can I come in?”

Charlotte shook her head and flushed deeply.

“I’m so sorry, please come in,” she said, moving aside from the doorway and motioning for Sadie to enter. 

With a crooked smile, Sadie walked into her cabin, gazing about herself in curiosity. Charlotte swallowed and closed the door behind her, running her hands down her apron nervously. 

“Would you like to sit down?” she offered. 

Sadie leaned against the table, her arms crossed over her chest as she regarded Charlotte. 

“What about a drink? Something to eat?” 

“Is Arthur going to leave the gang for you?”

Charlotte started, her heart dropping and her stomach turning to water. 

“Wha—what on earth are you talking about?” Charlotte asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. 

Sadie cocked her head to the side, a curious smile on her face.

“We got to talking not long ago,” she said, standing up straight and sighing. “Me and Arthur. Away from the camp. And he said some interesting things.”

Charlotte swallowed and brought her hand to her throat, trying to slow her breathing. 

“That doesn’t sound like him, to be frank,” she admitted.

A smile spread over Sadie’s sun kissed face.

“You know him quite well, doncha?” she said.

Charlotte flushed and resisted the urge to run a nervous hand through her hair. 

“I know enough,” she said firmly. 

Sadie nodded and stood up straight.

“I’ve only known Arthur for a few months,” she admitted, a wistful look on her face. “But he and I...we’ve gotta close.”

Charlotte looked down, her throat tightening. 

“He’s the only one I trust,” she continued. “The only man I’ve ever trusted aside from my husband.”

“Your husband,” Charlotte repeated, stunned. “Is he in the gang, as well?”

A cloud passed over Sadie’s face and a shiver ran through Charlotte as she recognized that look. She saw it on her own face nearly everyday in the mirror. 

“No,” Sadie said quietly. “He’s dead.”

“Oh,” Charlotte breathed. “I’m so sorry.” She stepped towards Sadie and tentatively reached out her hand. “I lost my husband, too.”

Sadie nodded, her lips tight and her eyes melancholy.

“This world ain’t kind to widows,” she observed suddenly. 

“No, it isn’t,” Charlotte agreed.

Sadie shifted her gaze to meet Charlotte’s.

“It ain’t easy being alone, with no one to trust,” she said. “Luckily, we got Arthur.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, a small smile on her lips. “He’s a good man.”

Sadie cleared her throat and nodded.

“Yeah, he is,” she agreed. “And that’s why I want him out.”

Charlotte furrowed her brows in confusion.

“Out of the gang?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Our gang...it’s dying. It ain’t gonna last long and only a few of us deserve fresh starts. Arthur’s one of ‘em.”

“I don’t understa—”

“He could get that with you,” Sadie insisted, her hand suddenly reaching out to grasp at Charlotte’s arm. “That’s why I came here. To see if you want to give him that.”

A tempest of emotions swirled within Charlotte as she stared at the other woman, her eyes desperately searching for meaning on Sadie’s face.

“He’s done right by me,” Sadie continued. “And I know he cares about you. A helluva lot. But if you ain’t got the same feelings, then let him know. He deserves that at least.”

“Sadie, I…” Her voice trailed off. She was bursting with questions, terribly curious as to what the conservation she and Arthur had apparently shared. She took a step closer to Sadie. “Why are you telling me this? Are you and him—”

Sadie burst out laughing. 

“Hell no,” she gasped out, wiping her eyes. “He’s like a brother to me. But I still love ‘im. And I don’t wanna see him hurt, ‘specially after all the shit he’s been through.”

“What shit?” Charlotte asked, and the voices of her mother and sisters in her head gasped. 

“He ain’t tell you?” Sadie asked, eyes wide.

“I think he’s scared to. I think he thinks he’s protecting me if he doesn’t tell me.”

Sadie nodded and sighed.

“Well, that sounds like him, the noble bastard,” she muttered. “Look, I came here because he deserves some happiness and I know he’ll never leave the gang if he’s got no one fighting for him on the outside.”

“But Arthur...I mean, we’re just friends.”

Sadie smirked again and rubbed her eyes, seemingly tired.

“If that’s what you think,” she replied. “But you care about him, right?”

“Of course,” Charlotte said firmly. “He means the world to me.”

Sadie nodded.

“I figured as much,” she said. “Hearing him wax all poetically about you all the way to Hanging Dog Ranch was enough proof for me.”

“Proof?”

“Listen, he’s gonna come back and try to do the noble thing, I just know it,” Sadie continued. “Don’t let him.”

Charlotte blinked, her mind desperately trying to play catch-up with this conversation.

“What do you mean? What noble thing?” she asked.

“Oh, y’know,” Sadie said waving her hands, “the whole ‘I don’t deserve you, I’m a bad man, don’t even look at me, I’m lower than dirt’ thing.”

Charlotte couldn’t help but smile. It did sound suspiciously like something Arthur would say.

“You gotta fight for him, alright? If you’re the kinda woman I think you are, you will.”

“So you just came here to see I don’t break his heart?” Charlotte asked, raising an eyebrow. “Between you and Arthur, it seems all outlaws are big softies.”

Sadie laughed again and shook her head.

“You ain’t met all the outlaws out there,” she said. “Trust me. You don’t wanna.”

“Well, you’re a good friend, Sadie,” Charlotte offered, a smile on her face.

Sadie sniffed and cleared her throat again.

“Only for the people who deserve it,” she said. “I gotta get going.”

“You don’t want to rest at all?”

“No, I better get back before they send a search party for me.”

Sadie adjusted her rancher’s hat and smiled gently to Charlotte.

“I know it ain’t none of my business but you mean a lot to Arthur,” she said, shrugging. “And I thought you oughta know.”

Warmth waved through Charlotte’s chest and she felt color rise to her cheeks. She looked down at her feet and nodded once.

“Thank you for telling me,” she replied softly.

Sadie clapped her on the shoulder, told her if she ever needed anything, she’d help out, and walked out the door. Charlotte exhaled a shaking breath and ran a hand over her face. She felt the prickling of tears in her eyes and she wasn’t quite sure why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop by hollymartinswrites.tumblr.com to say hi! Thank you again so very much for reading!
> 
> Please don't forget to comment!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Arthur and Charlotte continues. He is not sick with TB but the events of chapters 1-5 of RDR2 have still occurred.
> 
> Not beta-read so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Please enjoy and thank you so very much reading.
> 
> Remember that comments are love and needy writers like myself depend on them for nourishment.

_She ain’t worth it, Arthur._

_Who is?_

It had been a half-hearted joke. A defense mechanism. A sadly ridiculous attempt at his old bravado and Arthur knew Tilly saw right through it. But Tilly, bless her, said nothing and merely walked away, her lips tight and her eyes sympathetic. Arthur sighed. The only thing he hated more than Micah was pity.

Re-folding the letter, he had been tempted to throw it immediately on the fire. Filled with more of her gentle shaming and disappointment—and even the return of the ring he had given to her in long ago days that no longer even seemed real—it seemed as if the letter was taunting him, reminding him of how pathetic and useless a man he truly was.

He re-folded it and hid it deep within his satchel. Why he kept it, he had no idea. Perhaps because everything Mary wrote was true, the voice in his head sneered. Perhaps you need to keep it so you don’t go around thinking you deserve something beyond this dilapidated, dishonorable gang.

He glanced up from his cot and frowned at the sight of Dutch calmly smoking a cigar as Micah sat beside him, his head bent towards his ear, weaving whatever nefarious lies and plans he had for his own personal gain. Arthur sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. What happened to Dutch? What had changed him? Killing that woman on the ferry? That bump on the head in Saint Denis? Or had this side of him always been there, festering and waiting for someone like Micah to bring it to the surface?

“There she is!”

Arthur looked up and exhaled a shaking breath when he saw Sadie hitch her horse. She had cleaned up and changed after the massacre at Hanging Dog Camp and walked into camp with the same confidence she always did. He had promised her he wouldn’t say a thing about her private revenge against the O’Driscolls and it was clear that she intended to keep it a secret. Arthur didn’t mind. Lord knew he had plenty of secrets to hide from the rest of the gang.

She grabbed a bottle of whiskey and plopped down on the ground beside Arthur’s cot. Sighing, she uncorked the bottle, took a long swig and then handed it to Arthur, who accepted it gratefully.

“Took you long enough to get back,” he observed before taking his own swig of whiskey. “I was ready to go out looking for you if you didn’t come back before dawn tomorrow.”

“I figured as much,” she replied, taking off her hat and resting it on her outstretched legs. “Needed some time to think, is all.”

He nodded and returned the bottle to her.

“You doing alright?” he asked quietly.

Sadie sighed deeply and stared off into the distance, her eyes suddenly wistful.

“No,” she said finally, “but I’ll survive.”

“That’s all we can do,” Arthur agreed. “Getting tougher every day though.”

Sadie nodded.

“Yeah, but you got something to look forward to,” she said quietly.

He glanced up to verify that no one was listening in before running a head through his hair.

“Maybe,” he admitted softly. “Maybe not.”

“I knew it,” Sadie replied, taking another swig of whiskey. “You’re always doubting yourself.”

“It’s not just that,” he sighed. “It’s everything. Look at this place. Look at us. How do we know we all won’t end up like Colm? How do we know that rat over there won’t kill us all in our sleep?”

“Arthur—”

“Arthur!”

They both looked up as Dutch walked over to them, his arms spread wide and a cold smile on his face.

“Come on, we got an appointment to keep with Eagle Flies, let’s go,” he said importantly.

“Dutch, that ain’t our fight,” Arthur insisted.

“It surely is.”

“Whatever it is you’re planning, it ain’t a good idea. This is the United States Army. They want you to fight!”

Dutch waved his arm in an impatient manner before taking a step closer and leaning in. Arthur resisted the urge to move away from the man he used to consider a father.

“Don’t you get it? It’s perfect,” Dutch continued lowly, “people will see these boys, they won’t notice us and they’ll think we’re gone. Everyone will blame everything on the Indian problem, and we’ll disappear.”

Arthur felt his stomach tighten. As he stared at Dutch’s face, he searched for the man he once knew.

“So you’re just using Eagles Flies and the rest of ‘em.”

“No, sir, no, never, but it is mutually beneficial to draw attention to one problem and a veil over another.”

“These are good people,” Arthur insisted, “but their situation is real complex, we ain’t helping them.”

Dutch grinned and clapped Arthur on his shoulder.

“Sure we are,” he said. “Come on, let’s go. I need my best man with me.”

Arthur glanced at Sadie. She swallowed before meeting his eyes and then shrugged sadly. He sighed, reached for his hat, and stood up, following Dutch to their horses.

 

Nearly a week later, Arthur arrived, exhausted, cold, and miserable, at Willard’s Crest. He and Dutch had been on oned dangerous fool’s errand after another, facing death repeatedly and escaping just by the skin of their teeth. The worst of it, though, was Arthur’s realization that Dutch’s penchant for selfish cruelty was only growing more and more intense each day, and soon, nothing would be able to stop it.

Arthur clenched his eyes shut and tried to steady his breathing. His head was swimming, his stomach was empty, and his body ached. That jump into a fast moving river had been one of Dutch’s stupider ideas, though Arthur was as much an idiot for following him down. A part of him almost wished that he or both had drowned. At least then it would all be over.

He dismounted from Tess, hitched her up, and affectionately patted her as he fed her an apple. He smiled wistfully, thinking that perhaps she was the only woman in his life he had never disappointed. Sighing, he slowly walked towards the front door, gritting his teeth as every step brought fresh aches in his body. Getting old was no joke.

Alright, he reminded himself, it’s time to focus and just power through this. It’s for her own good.

He winced as he knocked on the door. He had no doubt that if he used those exact words, Charlotte would probably laugh in his face before kicking him out of her house. Well...the job would still be done, wouldn’t it?

The door opened and he gazed down at Charlotte’s smiling face, a new and sharper pain shooting through his chest.

“Arthur, come in, come in,” she said, taking his arm and leading him to her table. “You look like you could use some food and a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m fine,” he lied. “I can’t stay long, either.”

Charlotte gathered the loose papers and books scattered on the table.

“I was so engrossed in my writing, I didn’t even hear you ride up,” she said, placing it all in a neat pile in a cupboard.

“What are you writing?”

“Some silly little stories,” she admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and a slight blush rising on her face. “I try to keep a diary, as well. None of it is worth seeing the light of day, of course.”

“I doubt that,” Arthur said, furrowing his brow at her dismissive tone. “If you write at all like you talk, I’m sure it’s fantastic.”

Her blush deepened and she tried to hide her smile by turning towards the stove.

“Coffee? Tea? I think I have some whiskey left,” she offered.

“No, nothing,” Arthur replied, swallowing. “Just sit down. Please.”

Charlotte nodded and sat across the table from him, her face open and eyes expectant. Arthur swallowed and looked down at his clenched fists in his lap, slowly loosening them.

“I think,” he began before clearing his throat, “I think maybe it’s best if I didn’t come around here anymore.”

Charlotte cocked her head to the side, a mildly confused look on her face.

“Why’s that?” she asked, her voice still innocent.

He sighed and tried to remember the explanation he had planned on the ride up here but it had flown out of his head the moment he saw her smile.

“It’s not safe for you,” he finally admitted lamely.

“Oh, please, Arthur,” she scoffed. “We’ve already had this discussion.”

“No, you don’t understand,” he insisted, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “This isn’t just about my gang anymore. Charlotte, everything is going straight to hell and I’m not getting you stuck in the crossfire.”

“Arthur—”

“Just please, let me finish.”

She frowned but nodded.

“Charlotte, my gang...it’s falling apart. And now we have the United States Army after us. Don’t ask how that got started,” he said quickly as her eyes widened. “I don’t even know anymore. All I know is we’ve got Pinktertons, soldiers, bounty hunters, and soon enough, Indians after us, not to mention some rats in the gang. It’s bad enough Sadie knows about you, but I can’t risk anyone else.”

“Surely you can get out,” she insisted. “You’re not being held against your will, are you?”

“No, I…” Arthur trailed off and sighed. “I can’t rightly explain. I’ve been with this gang for most of my life and I need to see it to its end.”

“Then afterwards you can—”

“I doubt I’ll live to see what happens afterwards,” he replied, a grim smile on his face.

Charlotte blinked. Her face drained of color and she looked, momentarily, as if she forgot how to breathe.

“What are you saying, Arthur Morgan?” she finally asked hollowly.

“I’m saying...I’m saying I can’t see an end to all this without losing a bunch of folks.”

“But you don’t have to be one of them!”

Arthur tried to smile and shook his head.

“I wish I were better at words,” he sighed. “I just don’t think I can get out of this mess alive. And even if I did, I couldn’t risk coming back to you and having a bunch of vengeful, blood thirsty bastards showing up on your door.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

“So to prevent something that may happen in the future,” she said slowly, “you’re simply going to sever our friendship?”

Arthur winced.

“Well, I—”

“And I don’t get a say in this?”

Arthur blinked.

“Charlotte, it’s for your safety.”

“I think I’m at the age where I can determine my fate for myself,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You don’t know what could happen.”

“Neither do you.”

“I got a damn better idea than you do.”

Charlotte scoffed again and shook her head. Arthur was alarmed to see what looked like the beginning of tears in her eyes.

“I should’ve known,” she murmured to herself quietly. She looked up at Arthur and insisted, “If you simply don’t wish to see me, I’d much rather you be truthful.”

“That’s not it at all,” Arthur replied, his temper slowly growing. “I just can’t risk anything happening to you.”

“But—”

“Charlotte, these last few weeks, I’ve seen how bad it is. I’ve had a bunch of close calls and I know...I just know that there’s no way out of this.”

She was shaking her head, tears filling her eyes that she impatiently wiped away.

“I don’t believe that,” she said. “I know I’m just a foolish, naive city girl but I can’t believe there isn’t a way out for you.”

“Maybe I don’t want a way out,” Arthur muttered, his throat and chest tight.

Charlotte stared at him. Unable to face her, he looked down at the tabletop and wondered if the pain he was experiencing was his heart breaking as it felt quite different than his experience with Mary.

“Arthur Morgan,” Charlotte suddenly said firmly, “look at me.”

He winced and took a deep breath before meeting her stern eyes.

“If you think I’m going to allow you to go off and get yourself killed, then you don’t know me at all,” she continued. “There are people in this world who care about you. Who love you.”

Open your mouth and say something, Morgan. But all he could do was stare at her, breathless.

“And I don’t care what I have to do, but I’m making sure you get out of this alive,” she continued. “Frankly, I don’t care if you try to stop me. I’m a very stubborn woman.”

That startled a laugh out of him.

“I know that,” he acknowledged softly.

Charlotte stood and in three swift steps was beside him, taking his hands in her own and pulling him to his feet. He numbly stood and gazed down at her determined face.

“I’ve already buried one man I love,” she calmly stated. “I’m not about to do it again.”

_Take a gamble that love exists._

“Charlotte, I…”

She smiled as he trailed off and brought her finger to his lips.

“It’s alright,” she said softly.

“No, it ain’t,” he insisted. “You deserve more. You deserve better.”

“Shut up, Arthur.”

“The last time I came here. Do you know what I had been doing before?”

She swallowed and shook her head, though her eyes remained steady on his face.

“I had been going up and down the countryside, trying to scare the debts out of the poor fools who had borrowed money from us,” he admitted, his gut twisting painfully. “I’ve beaten the money out of folks before, all but killed a few. Just for a little bit of money.” A pained smile stretched across his face. “Oddly enough, the money lending always seemed worse than anything else, though I’ve done...Charlotte, you can’t imagine the things I’ve done.”

“No, I can’t,” she said softly. “I know you’ve done terrible things and I certainly don’t forgive you or absolve you of those things. I just have to believe that we’re not defined totally by the sins we’ve committed. I’ve seen your heart, Arthur Morgan, and I know you’re not an evil man. You’re constantly striving to do better, I see that every time I’m with you.” She shrugged suddenly. “If that’s not good enough for you, I’m sorry, but it’s good enough for me.”

Arthur took a deep breath and blinked when he realized his own eyes were filled with tears. He reached up and rested a hand on the side her head, his fingers weaving through her dark hair.

“This can’t be real,” he whispered.

“It can be,” she replied, a tentative smile on her face, “if you want it to be.”

_Take a gamble that love exists and do a loving act._

“I do,” he said, his eyes suddenly clear and his heart light. Charlotte reached up and placed both hands on either side of his face, his hair spilling through her fingers.

“Then come back to me,” she whispered firmly. “When everything is over, you get out and you come back to me.”

At Arthur’s stunned silence, her grip tightened and she insisted, “Promise me.”

“I promise,” he gasped.

She smiled and exhaled a shaking breath. In one swift motion, she leaned up and briefly pressed her lips against Arthur’s. He stood, shocked into stillness, and stared at her as she withdrew. Her hands were still holding his face and he reached up and laid one hand over hers.

“I promise,” he repeated, “darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop by hollymartinswrites.tumblr.com to say hi! Thank you again so very much for reading!
> 
> Please don't forget to comment!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for how long it has taken me to update this story. Life got in the way and please know Arthur and Charlotte were never far from my thoughts. Hopefully I can get the next chapters up much more quickly. 
> 
> The story of Arthur and Charlotte continues. He is not sick with TB but the events of chapters 1-5 of RDR2 have still occurred.
> 
> Not beta-read so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Please enjoy and thank you so very much reading.
> 
> Remember that comments are love and needy writers like myself depend on them for nourishment.

Sleep came sparingly to Charlotte these days. 

Ever since Arthur had left her home with the promise of returning to her, Charlotte had been plagued with restlessness or worst, tormenting dreams. Sometimes she dreamt of Cal, of his bloody injuries, his slow death, his cries of pain. Other times she dreamt of her childhood, of being alone in cold, endless halls in labyrinthian estates and no one responding no matter how much Charlotte cried out for someone...anyone...to find her. Finally, she dreamt of Arthur. His face, his voice, the touch of his roughened hands. The worst was when Cal and Arthur merged in her dreams, resulting in her replaying Cal’s death over and over only to turn his limp and bloodied body over and see Arthur’s empty eyes staring up at nothing. Those were always the dreams that wrenched her painfully out of sleep, her heart beating wildly and her nightgown damp with sweat. 

It didn’t matter that it was the beginning of winter, she would always stumble out of bed and throw open the window, lean out and inhale the frosty air with a shuddering gasp. 

He had promised, she reminded herself, closing her eyes against the biting cold. He’s going to come back. He promised.

Charlotte sighed and rubbed a hand over her face as she tried to get her breathing under control once again. Closing her eyes, she shut and locked her window, determined not to dwell on her nightly disturbances. She turned back to her unkempt bed, crawled in and bit her lip against the sudden onslaught of tears. 

Guilt is a powerful thing, she thought. It was suffocating and deep and sometimes, she thought she would drown in it. 

Closing her eyes tightly, she prayed she would not dream for the rest of the night; not see Cal standing at the foot of her bed, betrayal on his sallow, sunken face; not see Arthur alone—so alone—and cold and desperate for breath on a mountaintop, staring blindly at the setting sun. 

A shattering sob escaped her as she pulled the blanket over her head like a child. 

 

The sound of horse hooves pulled a grin onto Charlotte’s face and sent her heart leaping into her throat. She rushed out of her door, neglecting her coat and even a shawl. He had promised.

She squinted in the morning mist and quickly schooled her face into one that appeared pleased rather than disappointed.

“Hello there, Mrs. Balfour,” Hamish said pleasantly, his breath coming out in clouds. 

“It’s Charlotte and hello, Hamish,” she replied, shivering as he lead Buell to the stables. 

“What the hell are you doing out here without a coat?” he said sternly. “Get inside, you madwoman.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” Charlotte answered, rolling her eyes before taking his advice and hurrying into the cabin. 

She stoked the fire and immediately put up a fresh kettle of water to boil. Straightening, she sighed deeply and outstretched her icy hands towards the flames and willed the tears of disappointment away. Don’t be silly, he’s been gone only a fortnight, you really expected him back so soon? 

The door opened and quickly closed. She turned towards Hamish and smiled.

“What on earth are you doing here?” she asked, reaching for his scarf and hat. He stepped away and playfully swatted at her hands. “It’s freezing out.”

“I’m aware of that,” Hamish replied, shedding his layers and hanging them up on an empty peg near the door. Charlotte looked away. She had removed Cal’s dusty coat from that very peg only a week ago. 

“I came to check on you,” Hamish continued. “Snow is on its way and it’s a hell of a lot different here than when it snows in the city.”

“I guessed as much.”

“Guessing ain’t the same as knowing,” Hamish said gruffly. “I wanted to make sure you’re prepared.”

“I believe so,” Charlotte replied, hurrying to make herself busy. “Tea?”

“Alright,” Hamish replied. “But first I want to see if you’ve got enough food and supplies. Which way’s your root cellar again?” 

“Relax, Hamish,” Charlotte insisted, leading him to the table. “First tea and then you can go around hemming and hawing about how ill-prepared I am.”

“‘M not saying that,” he grumbled as he sat down. “You’re pretty self-sufficient from what I’ve seen.”

“That’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Charlotte laughing, pouring the hot water into two cups.

Hamish huffed a laugh and reached for his cup. She busied herself at the cupboards, ignoring the fact that she could sense his eyes on her back. After several long moments, she sighed and gave up.

“You haven’t heard from Arthur, have you?” she asked, turning back towards him.

Hamish sighed, scratching at his nose.

“No, not exactly,” he said.

“What does that mean?” she asked as she sat heavily across the table from him.

Hamish placed his cup on the table and straightened in his chair.

“I haven’t heard from the man himself,” he clarified. “But I have heard of trouble at the Heartland Oil Fields.”

Charlotte furrowed her brow.

“The oil fields?” she repeated.

Hamish nodded.

“And I wouldn’t be surprised if our mutual friend was involved with that,” he admitted, his eyes cloudy.

Charlotte searched through her memories with Arthur for any mention of the Heartland Oil Fields but she came up empty-handed. What on earth was he doing there?

“What sort of trouble?” she asked.

Hamish shrugged.

“Not sure of the particulars,” he admitted. “I just know that the Waptiti chief’s son got killed.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. 

“Eagle Flies?” she gasped, her hand to her chest in shock. “Are you certain?”

Hamish sighed and nodded, a look of regret on his face. Charlotte sat back in her chair and shook her head, sorrow and fear creeping up her throat.

“Arthur told me a bit about him,” she said softly. “He was young, wasn’t he?”

“Barely more than a boy,” he replied sadly. 

“How did you find out?”

“Came across some hunters from Valentine. The news spread across the Heartlands pretty quickly. Things are changing.”

Charlotte nodded, frowning. She gazed down at the tabletop, focusing on the grain of the wood. She clenched her eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“I’m worried, Hamish,” she admitted. “Arthur, he...he told me a bit about his plans. He wanted to get a few people out and safe and then he’d come back.” She looked up and met Hamish’s kind gaze. “But I can’t help but worry.”

He nodded.

“He didn’t say anything more to you?” he asked. “The last time he was here?”

Charlotte swallowed. How could she explain what they had said to one another the last time Arthur had been here? What words could she find to describe her desperate insistence he spend the night in the spare bedroom again, determined he have at least one night of decent rest? And could she truly explain her cold fear the next morning when Arthur, still pale and with a sadness deep in his eyes, tried to smile reassuringly and then left in the early morning chill? 

Hamish must have noticed her reluctance because he quickly said, “No matter. I’m sure he’ll be back as soon as he can. He’s got quite a number of people depending on him, that's all.”

Guilt turned the tea bitter as Charlotte drank it. Yes, Arthur has many people depending on him, people he’s known for years and years. He’s known you for only a few months. Do you really think you’re that important?

“Well,” Hamish said suddenly, standing up, “let me see how stocked up on food and supplies you are. Don’t want you ill-prepared all by your lonesome.”

Charlotte tried to smile and stood up, as well, taking his arm.

“You’re very good to me,” she said softly. 

Hamish huffed dismissively but the rising color on his face made her laugh gently. 

“You know, if the snow is too much for you or you run out of food, you can always come to my cabin,” he offered. 

Charlotte shook her head.

“I’ll be fine. Besides, what if Arthur comes back and I’m not even here?”

Hamish nodded but the look on his face sent a cold wave through her. It was a look of doubt. 

“He’s going to come back,” she insisted. “He promised.”

“I know he did,” Hamish said, patting her hand gently. “But I don’t want you wasting away in a cold cabin on account of a man’s promise. Ain’t worth it.”

Charlotte looked down. 

“I know,” she answered softly before looking back up at Hamish. “I’ll give him just another week or so. And if it gets bad, I’ll come to you. Alright?”

Hamish nodded and tried to smile reassuringly. It didn’t quite meet his eyes.

 

The snow did eventually come. It started overnight, a soft dusting of white that was actually quite pretty. Snow in Chicago had always been ugly. It barely hit the ground before it was black with dirt and soot and goodness knows what else. When they had first moved out here, both she and Cal had been naively looking forward to the first snowfall. It would look like something out of a Currier and Ives print; beautiful and pristine and charming. They had been fools.

Charlotte gazed out the frosted window and wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Hamish had assured that while Annesburg rarely saw blizzards, snow was a fairly constant companion throughout the winter months. Satisfied with the contents of her root cellar and larder, he had promised to not worry so much about her and only visit for purely social reasons. Or if he heard from Arthur first. That had been an unspoken agreement between the two but one she knew he held to steadfastly. So far, he hadn't visited and the week was nearly up.

She took the last sip of her now cold tea and stood up from her spot by the window. As she washed her cup and the plates that had held her dinner, she remembered the tales her mother used to tell her of widow's walks in New England, of the poor, pathetic women who spent years wasting away staring out to sea, waiting for their beloveds to return on their ships. Charlotte had shivered at these stories as a little girl, finding them to be rather eerily romantic. She had always wanted to be a heroine in her own story, she thought grimly. How do you like it now?

She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping in defeat and hot tears rising to her eyes. She wiped angrily at her face, her hands still wet. Don't cry. There's no point in crying just yet. Wait until the end of the week. Then you can cry all you like.

She took a deep breath and straightened, wiped her hands on her apron and took the lantern into the bedroom. She didn't bother looking out the window as she undressed and quickly crawled into her cold bed. 

Later, she wouldn't be able to recall if she had been dreaming when she heard the pounding on the door. She must've been because for a moment, it almost seemed as if Cal was in the room with her, shaking her awake. But that had only been her tired mind playing tricks on her, hadn't it? Well, sometimes she just wasn't sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop by hollymartinswrites.tumblr.com to say hi! Thank you again so very much for reading!
> 
> Please don't forget to comment!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for how long it has taken me to update this story. Life got in the way and please know Arthur and Charlotte were never far from my thoughts. Hopefully I can get the next chapters up much more quickly.
> 
> The story of Arthur and Charlotte continues. He is not sick with TB but the events of chapters 1-5 of RDR2 have still occurred.
> 
> Not beta-read so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Please enjoy and thank you so very much reading.
> 
> Remember that comments are love and needy writers like myself depend on them for nourishment.

John made it. Jack and Abigail and the girls made it. Charles made it.Arthur smiled and exhaled shakily, trying to ignore the heavy ache in his chest. A coughing fit consumed him as he gazed listlessly at the rising sun. The shivers were getting worse, he noticed. No matter, he thought. It was all going to be over soon.

Charlotte's face drifted across his feverish mind and he clenched his eyes shut. For a brief moment, he wondered if he had the strength to climb to his feet and get off this damn mountain. He slowly lifted his head, only to be overcome with incredible dizziness. Groaning, his head collapsed back onto the hard rock and he swallowed, trying to quell the nausea.

Ah, well, he thought. It wasn't the first time he had broken a promise to a woman. Still, this one was going to hurt. Well, he deserved to hurt even worse than he was now.

The sun's rays hit him. He had never expected a fast death but at least this one was relatively easy. He closed his eyes, tried to imagine anything but Charlotte's wan face, and waited for death.

  
_Isaac is staring up at you. He smiles but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. You reach out but he is just beyond your reach._

_“Where are you?” you ask._

_Isaac cocks his head to the side and shrugs._

_“Not with you,” he says. “Not ye_ t.”

_You feel the overwhelming urge to apologize but you know it won’t do any good._

_“I’ve missed you,” you say instead._

_Isaac smiles again and nods sagely._

_“I know, Papa,” he replies. “But I don’t think you’re ready.”_

_“Ready for what?”_

_Isaac sighs and suddenly looks older than his young years._

_“Maybe you should go back,” he says._

_“No,” you insist, reaching out again. It almost seems as if Isaac takes a step back. “I’m tired, Isaac. So tired.”_

_“I know,” he nods. “And I’m sorry for it but I don’t think this is right. Not yet.”_

_A heaviness weighs in your heart._

_“I haven’t seen you in so long,” you whisper. Suddenly, the faces of all the others who have died rise up to you. Lenny. Hosea. Molly. Sean. “Is there anyone else here?”_

_Isaac looks around himself as if as curious as you are._

_“I’m not sure,” he admits. “But I know you can’t stay.”_

_He takes another step back._

_“Wait,” you beg._

_Isaac looks up and blinks. You do so, too, when you realize you can feel cold snowflakes drifting onto your hair and face._

_“Love you, Papa,” Isaac says brightly._

_“Isaac, wait.”_

_“Arthur.”_

_You blink. Isaac had never called you by your first name._

_“What?” you gasp._

_“Arthur!”_

“Arthur!”

Arthur groaned and rolled his head back, waves of dizziness overwhelming him.

“Don’t worry,” a voice said firmly. “We’re nearly there.”

The darkness overtook him.

 

  
He woke up with a gasp and was immediately bent over with a hacking coughing fit. An arm reached underneath his neck and, with surprising strength, forced him gently to sit up. A cool hand reached for his forehead and wiped away his sweaty hair.

“Breathe, Arthur,” a voice said. “Slow, deep breaths.”

He followed the voice’s instructions, breathing in and out slowly. Finally, his coughing subsided and, with considerable effort, he opened his eyes. He squinted at the brightness of the room and groaned. A glass was suddenly placed at his lips and he instinctively took a tentative sip. The water was cooling. Sighing, he laid back down against the pillows. He wasn’t dead. Shit.

He slowly blinked his eyes open again. He was in a vaguely recognizable room. He turned his head stiffly to the side and his heart clenched painfully in his chest. He licked his dry lips and whispered, his voice rusty, “Charlotte.”

She beamed at him and, as disappointed as he was that he hadn’t died on that rock, he had to admit it was a beautiful sight.

“Your fever finally broke,” she said, wiping a cool cloth on his forehead. “We were worried for a time there.”

“We?” he repeated.

Charlotte nodded.

“Sadie is here,” she said. “She and your friend, Charles, brought you here. They saved your life.”

Arthur furrowed his brow.

“You probably don’t remember,” she answered. “You were unconscious when they found you on that mountain.”

He licked his lips again and attempted to clear his throat.

“How long?” he managed.

“How long have you been out?” she asked. Arthur nodded. “Nearly three days.”

Charlotte’s face suddenly crumpled.

“Arthur, I was so afraid,” she admitted. “I thought I was going to lose you, too.”

Arthur huffed a painful laugh.

“Can’t get rid of me quite yet,” he said.

Charlotte offered him a watery smile.

“Think you can eat something?” she asked.

He shrugged. She smiled again, stood, and leaned over to kiss him on his forehead before leaving the room.

Arthur’s gaze followed her until it fell on the wedding portrait on the wall. He sighed. I’d like to trade places with you, fella, he thought as he gazed at Cal’s face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop by hollymartinswrites.tumblr.com to say hi! Thank you again so very much for reading!
> 
> Please don't forget to comment!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Arthur and Charlotte continues. He is not sick with TB but the events of chapters 1-5 of RDR2 have still occurred.
> 
> Not beta-read so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Please enjoy and thank you so very much reading.
> 
> Remember that comments are love and needy writers like myself depend on them for nourishment.

_**Three days earlier.** _

Heart in throat, Charlotte rushed out of her bedroom towards the front door and immediately threw it open. Icy wind whipped past her as she stared, wide-eyed, into Sadie's tired face.

"Oh, thank God," Sadie sighed. "For a moment there I thought you were gone."

"No, I—" Charlotte peered past her into the waning darkness and an iciness enveloped her heart that had nothing to do with the weather. Behind Sadie, a man was supporting Arthur, who leaned heavily against him as if fully asleep. Two unfamiliar horses stood waiting and Charlotte felt more fear pierce through her at the absence of Arthur's horse, Tess. Heedlessly, she ran out, her woolen slippers immediately soaked through and Arthur's name on her lips.

"We need to get him inside, ma'am," the man holding Arthur upright said. "He's ill."

Charlotte steeled her heart and nodded as she arranged herself under Arthur's free arm. He had always been a big man, but she was shocked by how light he felt as she shouldered him. As they carefully dragged him into the cabin, she risked a glance at his face. He was paler than she had ever seen him, nearly gray, and had a sunken look about his face. She had seen a similar look before on men, and she quickly prayed that she was merely fretting for no reason. They entered the cabin and Charlotte cursed herself for keeping the door ajar.

"The bedroom's here," she said, motioning towards her own. The man nodded and together, they carried him into the bedroom and, ever so carefully, placed him on the unmade bed. A soft moan escaped Arthur and Charlotte immediately rushed to him.

"Arthur?" she whispered, taking his face into her hands. His eyelids fluttered but stayed closed. She took in his wan complexion, his dry, cracked lips, the sweat beading on his forehead. "He's burning up."

The man nodded as he arranged Arthur's feet at the foot of the bed.

"He's been feverish since we found him," he said. "At least since last night."

"We need to break it," Charlotte said firmly and hurried into the kitchen, quickly gathering her supplies. The front door opened and a gust of wind blasted through the cabin.

"I stabled the horses with yours if that's alright," Sadie said as she shrugged out of her coat.

"Of course," Charlotte replied, turning with a bowl of water in her hands. "Where's Tess? I didn't see her out there."

Sadie frowned and shook her head gently.

"We found her at the foot of the mountain," she said softly. "She led us as far she could to him but...she didn't make it."

Charlotte's heart cracked further and tears filled her eyes. Not know, she reminded herself. You're too busy to break down now. Sadie reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

"Sadie?" the man asked, stepping out of the bedroom.

"I'm here, Charles," she answered. "You got Arthur settled?"

Together, the two women walked into the bedroom and Charlotte immediately set to work, submerging a flannel cloth in the water and wringing it out before placing it gently across his forehead. Arthur hissed at the touch of the cool water but did not awaken.

"He'll be alright," Sadie offered, her head resting on Charlotte's shoulder.

Charlotte clenched her eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling.

"I made him promise to come back to me," she whispered. "I forgot to ask him to live."

"He's going to," Sadie insisted. "He's a stubborn bastard. He'll live. Won't he, Charles?"

The two women turned towards him, and Charles shifted from one foot to the other.

"We need to get fluids in him," he admitted. "Some yarrow tea will help. And warming him up. He's been out in the snow for a long time."

Charlotte nodded and straightened.

"Thank you both for bringing him here," she said softly.

"Sadie knew to bring him here," Charles admitted. "I just followed her lead."

"Well, thank you, nonetheless," she said. A thought suddenly occurred to her. "My name is Charlotte, by the way."

Charles huffed a laugh and shook her hand.

"Charles Smith," he replied. "Arthur kept you close to his chest. Sadie admitted she only knew about you by trailing him one day."

Charlotte smiled as Sadie insisted, "He was acting suspicious! You would've done the same thing." Charles shook his head and smiled softly.

"Well, I can't thank you both enough," Charlotte repeated. "Please, get yourselves settled. I'm going to brew some tea. Are either of you hungry?"

"Don't worry about us," Charles insisted. "Focus on Arthur."

"But—"

"It's alright," Sadie said, taking Charlotte's hand and squeezing it gently.

"You'll both stay, right?" she asked. "At least until his fever breaks."

"We should probably lay low here for a couple days," Sadie admitted. "Luckily, it started snowing again. Our tracks will be covered within an hour. But the roads are probably still covered with Pinkertons."

"Stay," Charlotte repeated. She glanced down at Arthur's pale face and closed her eyes briefly.

"We will," Sadie insisted and tried to smile warmly. "Afraid you're stuck with us for a bit."

Charlotte sighed in relief.

 

They took turns. Someone always sat with Arthur as the hours slowly passed and the snow continually fell. Charles usually stayed up keeping watch for Pinkertons and two men named Dutch and Micah. At the dark, pinched look on Sadie's face when they were brought up, Charlotte suspected they must've played a crucial part in the disintegration of their gang but she knew not to ask any questions.

Arthur remained unconscious, but the fever wreaked havoc with him. He moaned in his sleep, thrashed occasionally, and even cried out at times. It often took two of them to settle him down back into full unconsciousness. Charlotte tried not to think about how much it was all reminding her of Cal's last terrible days. She focused only on the task at hand, wiping down Arthur's face and neck with cool cloths, warming his feet before wrapping wet socks onto them, and calming his fever dreams.

Once or twice, she could just make out words Arthur moaned. Usually, it was simply "no" or "please" but once, she swore she heard the name Isaac. Charlotte fretted as she wiped down his face as he feverishly begged for release.

"It's alright, Arthur," she whispered fervently. "You're safe now. Just relax. Please, Arthur."

Sometimes her voice managed to soothe him and she allowed herself hope. But still, the fever did not break. Soon, she refused Charles and Sadie's offers to take their turns at Arthur's bedside. How long she spent sitting in that stiff, wooden chair in the bedroom, she couldn't quite say. Frankly, it didn't matter to her. Arthur had kept his promise; she was determined to keep hers.

She hadn't prayed since Cal's death but she found herself spending the long hours next to Arthur imploring someone, anyone to break his fever. Two nights after they had first arrived, Charlotte laid her hand on top of Arthur's and closed her tired eyes. Suddenly, Cal's face came to her.

Please, Cal, Charlotte silently begged, please don't take Arthur with you. Not yet.

She wiped at her eyes and leaned her head down to rest on the bed, too exhausted to notice a hand weakly squeezing her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop by hollymartinswrites.tumblr.com to say hi! Thank you again so very much for reading!
> 
> Please don't forget to comment!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Arthur and Charlotte continues. He is not sick with TB but the events of chapters 1-5 of RDR2 have still occurred.
> 
> Not beta-read so any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Please enjoy and thank you so very much reading.
> 
> Remember that comments are love and needy writers like myself depend on them for nourishment.

It took two days after he first woke up out of his fever, for Arthur to finally start feeling like a proper human again. He ate, washed, and ventured out of the bedroom, shocked but moved that Charles and Sadie had been waiting for him along with Charlotte. He was still weak, but refused to stay any longer in Charlotte’s bed (he couldn’t help but wince when he thought about it that way). 

Arthur made his way to the kitchen table and ate the stew Charlotte prepared and discussed the past few months with Sadie and Charles. He had been reluctant to share his experiences on the top of that mountain, of what Micah and Dutch had said and done to him, but Sadie refused to let it drop. She was boiling over with rage, looking and sounding not unlike she had right before they had arrived at Hanging Dog Ranch.

“We should get ‘em,” she declared, her hands curled into fists. “They need to pay. Especially the rat.”

“Vengeance is a fool’s game,” Charles reminded her. “It benefits no one.”

“I can think of several benefits to killing the both of them,” she snapped. 

“We don’t even know where they are,” Arthur sighed, sipping at his fifth cup of yarrow tea in the last two days. Charlotte seemed to always have a fresh batch ready every time he turned around.

“We could track ‘em,” Sadie insisted. “Wouldn’t be that hard finding those two idiots.”

“And you know who else is tracking them? The Pinkertons and the United States Army,” Charles observed. “We could easily end up right in their crosshairs.” 

Sadie slumped against the back of her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, frowning. 

“We’re free now,” Arthur said quietly. “We can start over. Going for revenge will just be like going to the gallows.”

“Exactly,” Charles said before standing. “Plus, they both think Arthur’s dead. Let them keep thinking that and they won’t bother with the rest of us.”

Sadie sighed and shook her head. Charles headed for the door, saying he wanted to check on the horses, and patted Arthur’s shoulder before leaving. Arthur turned to Sadie and rested a hand on her arm.

“I get it,” he said gently. “A part of me wants revenge too but it’s just…it ain’t worth it, Sadie.”

“You and me got different priorities, I guess,” she muttered. She shook her head again. “I want those bastards dead as much as I did the O’Driscolls.”

“Sadie…”

She looked up and met his gaze, a quiet smile coming to her face. 

“But for you, I won’t,” she sighed. “At least, not yet.”

Arthur smiled and shook his head.

“Do me a favor, and wait till I’m really dead to go after them ,” he replied. 

“You really don’t want any part of it?” 

Arthur glanced up at Charlotte’s back where she was standing at the stove, brewing more tea and coffee. She had remained silent during their conversation, not even sitting at the table with them. Arthur sighed.

“No,” he admitted, “I don’t.”

Sadie following his gaze and nodded once.

“Alright,” she relented, taking his hand in hers. “Alright, Arthur.”

The door slammed open.

“There’s someone coming up the hill,” Charles said breathlessly.

Sadie jumped up from her seat and together, she and Charles grabbed their rifles and crouched behind the front windows before either Arthur or Charlotte could blink.

“Wait, wait,” Charlotte gasped. “Let me go out and see who it is.”

“Absolutely not,” Arthur said, standing and reaching out his arm. 

“I can handle it,” Charlotte insisted. “And I don’t want a bloodbath on my front door.”

She grabbed Cal’s gun and handed it to Arthur. 

“If I need help, you’ll know,” she said firmly. Arthur stared at her determined face and reluctantly took the rifle in his hands. He nodded once.

“Alright, go,” he whispered.

Sadie and Charles watched as Charlotte turned, grabbed her velvet coat off the peg, and quickly opened and closed the door behind her. 

“Stay back, Arthur,” Charles intoned. “We can’t risk you being recognized.”

“Oh, shut up, Charles,” Arthur growled. He was considering just where to stand when he heard Charlotte exclaim loudly, “Oh, it’s you!”

Sadie peeked out the window.

“It’s an old man,” she observed. “She’s talkin’ to him as if she knows him. I think...I think he’s got a wooden leg.”

“Hamish,” Arthur muttered to himself. “Lower your guns, it’s safe.”

“Who is he?” Charles asked.

“A friend.”

“Jesus, Arthur, how many secret friends you got?” Sadie asked, thunderstruck. 

The front door opened and closed quickly. Charlotte was breathless.

“It’s Hamish,” she said brightly to Arthur. “He wanted to check up on me after the snowstorm and see if I heard from you.” A soft look came to her face. “He’s worried you’re dead.”

Arthur gently placed Cal’s gun on the table and reached for his coat. 

“You’re still unwell,” Charlotte said. “You shouldn’t go outside.”

“Is this man trustworthy?” Charles asked.

“Oh, yes,” Charlotte replied quickly, turning towards him. “Isn’t he, Arthur?”

Arthur nodded.

“Bring him in then,” Charles said.

“You sure about that?” Sadie asked warily.

“He knows someone’s here, there’s two extra horses outside.”

“Let him in, Charlotte,” Arthur said softly. She offered him a gentle smile and turned, opening the front door and calling out, “Come in, Hamish!”

Arthur could hear the old man fussing with Buell and he smiled to himself. He had missed the old veteran.

“‘Bout time,” Hamish groused as he walked in and immediately stopped short at the sight of Arthur and two strangers limply holding rifles. “Well, this is quite a welcoming.”

Arthur smiled and reached forward to shake Hamish’s hand. 

“Good to see you, friend,” he said. 

“Certainly is, I had figured you finally gotten yourself killed or captured and left this little lady all alone,” Hamish replied. 

Charlotte rolled her eyes as Arthur felt heat rise to his face. He cleared his throat and turned to the others.

“Hamish, this is two good friends of mine, Charles Smith and Sadie Adler.”

Hamish greeted them both, and by the look in his eye, Arthur knew he assumed they were members of his gang. Or former gang, he figured.

“Guess I didn’t have to worry about you being out here all alone,” Hamish observed. “You got plenty of company.”

“Yes, we’ve been quite cozy,” Charlotte said happily. “Sit, I have coffee.”

“No, no, I was just stopping by on my way back from Annesburg,” he replied. He turned towards Arthur and said lowly, “Son, they still got a price on your head. The newspapers don’t know if you’re dead or alive.”

“I know it,” Arthur sighed.

Sadie asked quickly, “Do the newspapers say anything about Dutch van der Linde? Or Micah Bell?”

“Only that they’ve disappeared,” Hamish answered. “And I reckon that’s what you all should do soon.”

Arthur sensed, rather than saw, Charlotte stiffen beside him. He resisted the urge to take her hand. 

After a few more minutes being grilled on all he knew by Sadie, Hamish said his goodbyes and shot a knowing look Arthur’s way before leaving. Charlotte exhaled shakily and put her hand to her chest. She gazed up at Arthur.

“You’re not going to disappear, are you?” she whispered.

Arthur hesitated, gazing down at her wide, green eyes and feeling his resolve crack. He heard Sadie clear her throat.

“I’m gonna...brush the horses,” she announced. “Come on, Charles, help me out.”

“But I already—”

“Come on, Charles,” she insisted, grabbing his arm and all but pulling him out of the cabin, closing the door behind her.

Arthur sighed.

“No, Charlotte, I ain’t disappearing,” he said gently. “At least, not yet.”

“Arthur, you said it yourself that we’re remote out here,” she continued earnestly. “No one would come looking for you here.” He sighed and reached out to tenderly tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “And besides, they’ll be another outlaw on the run everyone will be looking for before you know it.”

Arthur huffed a laugh and shook his head.

“Bounties tend to last a long while,” he replied.

“Not if they think you’re dead.”

“Perhaps.”

“You can stay here as long as need be.”

“I ain’t about to ask that of you, Charlotte.”

She reached her hand up to rest on his cheek and Arthur blinked when he realized when she was about to do.

“Hang on, I still ain’t well yet,” he said quickly. 

“I don’t care,” she murmured and kissed him. It wasn’t a particularly passionate kiss but when Arthur closed his eyes, he felt oddly light-headed. He felt his own arms, quite beyond his control, curl around her waist and bring her flush against his body. For the first time in weeks, perhaps months, he felt whole. 

A scuffle at the window broke them apart and they both turned to see Sadie hurrying away. Charlotte threw her head back and laughed, a sweet, infectious sound that filled Arthur with such sudden joy, it took his breath away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop by hollymartinswrites.tumblr.com to say hi! Thank you again so very much for reading!


End file.
